


And you may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?

by RabbitRunnah



Series: Once in a Lifetime [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Bitty just hasn't experienced that yet, Established Relationship, Kid Fic, Light Angst, M/M, canon timeline remains the same, inaccurate or incomplete depiction of the science behind head injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-08-03 10:21:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16324406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RabbitRunnah/pseuds/RabbitRunnah
Summary: Bitty goes to bed after his "lucky shot" having made a decision. When he wakes up he ... is not where he expected to be. He has a career, and a baby, and -- this is the biggest surprise of all -- a husband who looks a lot like Jack Zimmermann.





	1. Chapter 1

“It was a lucky shot.”

Bitty heads back to his dorm that night with his captain’s words running through his head on a loop. How foolish he was to think things were beginning to get better. How foolish he was to think he could ever have a place on this team. At the end of the day, Jack Zimmermann and all of these boys are just a bunch of jocks, no better than the football players who used to tease him about his size and his figure skating and his pies.

Crying into his pillow, right before he falls asleep, he makes a decision: He’s going home. He can tell Mama in the morning. If he explains to her just how bad things are here at Samwell, maybe she’ll find a way to get him on her flight. It’ll cost money, and his parents will be disappointed, but it’s not like they’ll be paying his tuition anymore.

He’s going home. For the first time in weeks, Bitty sleeps soundly, unburdened by the anxiety that’s plagued him since the day Jack Zimmermann first glared at him and growled, “Eat more protein.”

He’s going home.

*

The first thing Bitty notices when he wakes up is that somebody has changed his alarm from “Countdown” to a gently tinkling iPhone chime.

The second thing he notices is that his bed seems much larger. He stretches in all directions and gasps when his foot brushes up against … another leg?

That would be the third thing Bitty notices: He’s not alone in this bed.

“ _Crisse_ , Bits, did you forget to turn off your alarm again? It’s Sunday. Turn that damn thing off.”

And there’s the fourth thing: Jack Zimmermann, in his (their?) bed, apparently unsurprised by this situation.

Bitty squeezes his eyes shut and prays that when he opens them he’ll be back at Samwell, alone, in the bed he’s supposed to be in. This is just a crazy dream. Like one of those dreams where you dream you’re awake and it’s _just_ realistic enough to make you think it’s real, but then something real crazy happens and part of you knows you’re still asleep so you just have to force yourself to wake up.

The Jack part is interesting, a bit of a surprise, but Bitty can think about what that means later.

He opens his eyes. Jack is definitely still here. He’s just going to have to work harder at waking up. He takes a deep breath the way he learned that time he went to his mama’s yoga class, and slowly releases it. One. Two. Three yoga breaths.

“Are you feeling okay, bud?”

“What is going on?” Bitty all but yells.

Jack(?) gives him a lazy smile. “I can’t believe you have a hangover from three glasses of wine. We sure are lightweights these days, eh?”

Wine? They were most definitely _not_ drinking wine after the game last night.

“Don’t have a hangover,” Bitty says. He doesn’t know a lot about his current situation, but he’s positive he doesn’t have a hangover.

“Good. We have to be home by five. That’s when my parents are dropping the baby off.”

“Baby?” Bitty whispers.

“Oh, bud. I think you _did_ overdo it last night.” Jack’s expression hovers somewhere between concerned and _fond_. Bitty has never seen him like this. “I’ll make you coffee and have room service bring up some toast and eggs. We can skip breakfast out.” Jack slides out of bed and walks across the room — it’s a hotel room, a really really nice hotel room, Bitty realizes — toward the coffee maker. Bitty allows himself a brief moment to appreciate Jack Zimmermann’s perfect, boxer brief-clad ass before he begins freaking out again.

“I don’t want coffee!” he yells. “I want to go home.”

Jack turns around. Dammit. He’s not wearing a shirt and now Bitty has a perfect view of his perfect abs. He can feel his face heat up. Whatever is going on, he’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to be appreciating this.

“You want to go home early?” Jack sounds disappointed. “We only have a few more hours before we have to get on the road. My parents and Carter are fine. They texted a picture from breakfast; Papa tried to feed him applesauce.” Jack gives him a wicked smile. “Probably should have told them he hates applesauce.”

The coffee maker is one of those single cup brewers. Bitty watches Jack watch the coffee flow into the mug. He takes a packet of raw sugar from the little tray next to the coffee maker and neatly tears off one corner before shaking it into the brew.

“Creamer?” 

Jack looks at him skeptically. “It’s just that fake crap.”

“I like the fake crap,” Bitty insists.

Jack snorts. “That’s not what you said last year when you gave it up.”

“Jack Zimmermann, that doesn’t make a lick of sense.” None of this does, but whatever. Maybe if Bitty keeps talking he’ll get some answers.

“Fine.” Jack smiles placatingly and roots through the tray. “Do you want regular or … regular?”

“Is there pumpkin spice?” Bitty asks hopefully.

“Regular then?” Jack rips off the foil lid and dumps the creamer into the mug, gives it a little swish with a wooden stir stick.

Bitty has to sit up in order to take the coffee from Jack. “Careful, it’s hot,” Jack warns. He adjusts his grip so Bitty can grab it by the handle. Their hands brush together as he makes the handoff. That’s when Bitty notices the rings.

Jack has a gold band on his left ring finger. And when Bitty pulls his own hand out from under the covers and holds it to his disbelieving eyes, he realizes he’s wearing its twin.

There’s a chime from the nightstand. Jack picks up the phone that’s sitting there and smiles at it. “Oh look, they took Carter to the park.” He carefully sits down next to Bitty and hands him the phone. On the screen is a picture of a smiling Bad Bob Zimmermann — older than he was just last night — holding a baby who looks exactly like Bitty does in his baby pictures.

“Oh my lord,” Bitty whispers, collapsing back into the pillows. The coffee sloshes around in the mug and a few hot drops splash onto the (expensive, probably) comforter and his arm. He yelps in pain. Jack shakes his head in fond exasperation and presses a kiss to Bitty’s temple. “I told you it was hot,” he murmurs as Bitty desperately dabs at his arm with the now-soiled comforter.

Whatever this is, it isn’t a dream.


	2. Chapter 2

Bitty is pretty sure most people don’t find out their college hockey captain is gay by waking up with them at some undetermined point in the future.

Yet, here he is, in bed with Jack Zimmermann, who is very attentively nibbling at his neck. Jack Zimmermann, apparently, is super gay.

Or … bi? He had a date with a pretty tennis player last week. But he’s here with Bitty, and they’re wearing matching rings, and they have a child together, so …

The other implication suddenly hits him: If Jack is gay (or bi), then Bitty must also be … He’s never said it out loud, the thing he knows makes him different from the boys he grew up with. He thinks it, now: _I’m gay_.

And that also means … Bitty pulls away from Jack. “Jack!” he gasps. “Do my parents — ” he makes a crazy hand wavey gesture between the two of them — “know about this?”

He means _us_ , he means _me_ , he means, _Do my parents know I’m gay?_ but Jack misunderstands. “Yeah, bud, this weekend away was their idea, remember? Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“And they’re just … _fine_ with it?”

“Why wouldn’t they be?”

“I think I need a minute,” Bitty says. He takes a minute, and another, but keeps coming back to the fact that he’s in bed with Jack Zimmermann. “Jack, I think I’m gay,” he blurts out.

Jack’s laugh is a low thing, beginning in his chest and felt more than heard. “Well, I hope so, bud. I was starting to worry you’re finally having second thoughts about us.”

“I think I’m just really tired.” Bitty squeezes his eyes shut to barricade against the tears threatening to spill out any second.

Jack rests a gentle hand on Bitty’s shoulder. His touch is so, so warm and comforting. Bitty’s first instinct is to squirm away but the weight of it is real and reassuring. He likes the way it feels. “All right,” Jack finally says. “I know we planned on going on a walk through the gardens before we leave, but maybe we should just head home since you aren’t feeling well. Want me to shower first?”

Bitty nods.

“Unless you want to share?” Jack raises an eyebrow.

Lord, no. Is that something he and Jack do on a regular basis? Probably, he decides, since they’re married. At least, Bitty realizes now, he’s not going to die a virgin. That’s a comforting thought. Or terrifying. If he's had sex with _Jack Zimmermann_ , shouldn't he remember it? That doesn't seem like something he'd forget. Jack gives Bitty another kiss just above his shoulder, and gets out of bed. When the bathroom door closes behind him, Bitty breathes a deep sigh of relief and falls back into his pillows.

He thinks about all the movies he’s seen like this. The movies have taught him he has somehow time traveled, or is suffering from amnesia. He can’t exactly voice either of these concerns to Jack. One sounds crazy and the other will probably scare Jack. Both are likely to get him a trip to the hospital to get his head checked.

Or, maybe this is just an elaborate prank. Bitty considers it and quickly rejects the idea as too stupid. Even if Ransom and Holster had been able to sneak into his dorm and move him to an undisclosed location without waking him, there’s no way they would have gotten Jack, who is allergic to fun and doesn’t seem to particularly want Bitty on his hockey team, on board. Not to mention, this whole thing would be an unusually mean spirited prank. Rans and Holster like to joke around, but they aren’t cruel.

He waits until he hears the shower turn on and grabs the phone from the nightstand. It’s a little bigger, but looks similar enough to his phone that he should be able to figure it out. Just as he’s hoping he still uses the same password, a message appears on the screen: _Swipe up_. Bitty swipes and the phone unlocks to reveal a picture of himself and Jack and a baby. They’re all smiling and wearing matching knit hats. The picture must have been taken last winter or spring, because the baby is much smaller than the baby in the picture Jack just showed him. It’s a really cute baby. They all look really happy. Bitty wishes he felt as happy right now as he looks in this picture.

According to the phone’s calendar icon, it’s November 10. The day it should be. Except, as Bitty discovers when he opens the app, it’s November 10, _2030_. He’s _thirty-five_. Somehow, Bitty has lost 17 years of his life.

At least Google is still the same. He takes only a few seconds to decide he’ll search for Jack first. Jack’s on the fast track to the NHL and has famous parents; surely it’ll be easier to find information about him.

He skims through the first hit, Jack’s Wikipedia page, which reveals … well, it reveals a lot. There’s the requisite backstory, told with a lot less flair than Ransom and Holsters' version, followed by a section devoted to Jack’s playing career. After graduating from Samwell, Jack apparently signed with the Providence Falconers. He won two Stanly Cups with Providence and was traded to the Bruins, which he captains, in 2025. He recently announced he'll be retiring at the end of the season. Bitty quickly skims the rest of the page until he gets to the section about his personal life.

_Jack Zimmermann married his Samwell teammate and longtime boyfriend, Eric Bittle, in October of 2023. The two have one son._

So. That answers a few things. Bitty’s finger hovers over his own name. It’s a clickable link. He’s kind of afraid of what he’ll find.

Bitty’s Wikipedia page is just as long as Jack’s. He’d expected it to be one of those “incomplete” pages, having been created only because of his famous husband and in-laws, but it looks like future him is doing all right for himself. His eyes widen as he reads about his career. Two best selling cookbooks, a Food Network show called _Easy as Pie_ , and a popular lifestyle blog of the same name. Just to make sure, he checks out his own “personal life” and yep, he’s definitely married to Jack.

There’s one more thing he needs to check before Jack comes back. He does another Google search, this time with both of their names.

The first hit for “Eric Bittle Jack Zimmermann” is an old ESPN article about Jack coming out as bisexual after winning the Stanley Cup at the end of his first NHL season. There’s a video embedded in the story. Bitty doesn’t want to watch it, but he also kind of does, so he plays the video and watches through half-opened eyes. The footage shows them locked in a passionate on-ice kiss, presumably after Jack’s game-winning goal.

So. They really did that. He wishes he could remember it. It’s probably a nice memory.

Bitty clicks out of the browser and searches the contacts in his phone for somebody who might be able to help him. Shitty, or Ransom, or Holster. They must still be in touch, right? Is the SMH group chat still a thing? Most of the names Bitty scrolls past are unfamiliar. Some are obviously hockey nicknames; others, he assumes, are people he works with. Bob and Alicia Zimmermann are in there, as are Bitty’s parents. His most recent text is from Alicia Zimmermann, sent yesterday afternoon. It’s a picture of Bad Bob, asleep on a couch, with a sleeping baby on his chest. “Look at these two!” is the message that accompanies it. Bitty had replied with a series of heart eye emojis.

Another text from somebody he apparently refers to as “Lardo” comes through as Bitty is scrolling through his text chain with Alicia.

“How’s the big, kid-free weekend away? I hope the reason I haven’t heard from you is because you’re too busy having filthy sex all over that sweet hotel room.”

Bitty blushes and turns off his phone. In the bathroom, the shower turns off.

“Bits?” Jack cracks the door open and sticks his head out. Droplets of water fall from his hair. “Your turn. Shower’s nice and hot for you.”

Bitty slowly climbs out of bed and gets to his feet. His body seems to be in working order, at least. He looks down at himself and notices, for the first time, that he’s wearing a soft, faded Providence Falconers Stanley Cup champions T-shirt and a pair of blue boxer briefs. There’s a tiny hole in the left shoulder of the shirt, which is a little big on him. Stolen from Jack, then?

Bitty gasps when he walks into the steamy bathroom. He hadn’t been able to tell before, but now that he’s inside, he’s floored to discover it’s bigger than his dorm room. There’s a giant tub, a giant walk-in shower like the ones Mama always sighs over on the HGTV shows she watches (now Bitty understands why Jack asked if he was going to join him), and a whole vanity in one corner. Jack stands at one of two sinks, shaving, wearing only a towel around his waist. The toilet appears to be in a separate room altogether.

“Can you, um …” Bitty tries to avoid looking directly at Jack. “A little privacy?”

Jack gives Bitty a strange look but nods. “Let me just finish up,” he says, squinting at his face in the mirror. Bitty sits on the side of the tub and watches. When he finishes, Jack sets the razor down on the counter and splashes water on his face.

“It’s all yours,” he says after drying his face with a hand towel. He gives Bitty another curious look and exits, closing the door behind him.

In the bathroom, alone, with the door locked, Bitty undresses and looks at himself in the mirror for the first time.

He notices, with some relief, that his face is more or less the same. It’s thinner, his jawline sharper, and he’s finally lost those round cheeks that always made him look like a little kid. Less welcome are the barely there lines at the corners of his eyes. At least he still has his hair. It’s shorter than it was yesterday but it’s _there_ , and the right color. No grays, as far as he can tell in the artificial bathroom light. His eyes drift down to the rest of his body. He seems to have put on a solid fifteen pounds of muscle overnight; Jack Zimmermann’s high protein diet and conditioning drills must have been effective. His abs aren’t defined like Jack’s; he's actually a bit softer than he remembers, to be honest, but that realization is only like the eighth most upsetting thing about this morning so Bitty lets it slide. So. This is what Jack Zimmermann wakes up to every morning. This is what Jack Zimmermann seems pretty happy about waking up to every morning.

Bitty showers quickly, barely taking time to appreciate the fancy shower gel and shampoo, and dries off before realizing he’s trapped in the bathroom without clothes. He doesn’t know where they are, or what they look like. He wraps a towel around himself — it’s _so_ soft and luxurious, not at all like the scratchy motel towels they’re given on roadies — and sticks his head out the door. “Jack, honey? Can you bring me my clothes?” He hopes he isn’t overdoing it with the “honey.” Jack keeps using cute nicknames when he talks to him; he’s sure he must have some of his own for Jack.

“Got your back, Bits.” A few minutes later Jack’s at the bathroom door, a pile of clothes in his arms.

Bitty gratefully takes the clothes and just stares at Jack, who continues to linger in the doorway. He seems to be expecting _something_ , so Bitty rises onto his toes and (reluctantly) gives him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll just get changed real quick and we can go,” he says.

“I’ll call and have the car brought down.”

Bitty can hear Jack on the phone as he changes into slim fitting dark jeans and a sweater. Both are from brands he recognizes as being well out of his student budget. He pads back into the room in his socks and notices Jack is dressed in similar jeans and a plaid flannel button down, looking like a sexy Canadian lumberjack. Their bags are waiting by the door. There’s one pair of shoes, a probably-expensive pair of brown leather lace-up boots, sitting near the bench at the foot of the bed. Bitty sits and puts them on. When he stands, Jack puts an arm around his shoulder and guides him toward the door.

“It’ll be another year before we see this place, eh? You sure you don’t want to get something from the bakery downstairs before we go? Something for the road?”

Bitty shakes his head. If he tries to eat anything, he might be sick. As it is, the coffee is sitting uncomfortably in his stomach. Jack says they’re going home, but he has a feeling his idea of home is different than Jack’s idea of home.

They take the elevator down to the first floor and Bitty takes a moment to admire the absolutely palatial lobby as they roll their luggage through it. The way Jack was speaking earlier, it sounds like they come here often, or often enough. Yet another thing he can’t remember and probably should.

Outside the hotel, Bitty watches the succession of cars roll up as he waits for Jack’s cue to get in one of them. Future cars are, disappointingly, not very different from the cars he’s used to. That is, until a sleek black SUV with an unfamiliar logo slows to a park in front of them and Jack nudges him. “C’mon,” he says, rolling their bags around toward the back. He lets the valet lift them into the trunk and thanks him with a firm handshake and a tip discreetly slipped into his palm.

“Do you want to drive, or should I?” Jack asks.

Seeing as how Bitty has no idea where they’re going, or even how to drive this car, he defers to Jack. “You can,” he says, trying to sound casual and not at all petrified that he’s about to get into a car to go who-knows-where with Jack Zimmermann.


	3. Chapter 3

The SUV is a little unnerving. And it isn’t just because there’s an infant seat in the middle row.

Jack seems to be controlling it with a touch screen, nearly twice the size of an iPad, that's mounted on the dash. It displays a map, music presets, and lots of other icons Bitty thinks probably have to do with the car’s operation. The vehicle doesn’t make a sound as Jack puts it into drive and practically glides onto the street.

Once they get on the freeway, Jack does  _something_ and suddenly the car seems to be driving itself. “We’ll have to stop to charge once,” Jack says, and he might as well be speaking French because Bitty doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking about.

Now that they’re in the light of day, and Jack is focused on the road, Bitty can take a moment to really stare at him. Like Bitty, Jack’s face shows some signs of age. He even has a few gray hairs. He’s still handsome, though, Bitty can admit that much. He congratulates his future self for choosing so well. He wonders what happened, to make them fall in love with each other. The last conversation he remembers having with Jack ended with Jack angrily stalking away.

“So this weekend …” Bitty begins, hoping it will be an opening for Jack to reveal any clues as to why they were staying in a hotel.

“Pretty great, eh? Our parents were right; I don’t know what took us so long to take a weekend away.”

“We’ve been pretty busy,” Bitty says, hoping it’s a generic enough reply to avoid suspicion.

“Things will settle down when the season’s over,” Jack says. “I don’t think I can thank you enough for agreeing to scale back a little this year so I can play for one more year.”

“Well, we have to do what’s best for our family,” Bitty says. They fall silent again. Bitty pulls out his phone and scrolls through his texts, hoping he’ll read something that will give him more insight into … anything, really.

The “Bittle-Zimmermann” group chat, which includes their parents, is mostly baby pictures. Bitty scrolls backward, watching that baby — Carter — grow younger before his eyes. Eventually, he gets to an ultrasound picture with an exuberant “IT’S A BABY!!!!” from Bitty and a more sedate “We’re having a baby,” from Jack.

 

_Dad Bob: Looks like one of you is more excited than the other._

_Me: That’s Jack being excited._

_Jack: I’m excited._

_Alicia: Weren’t you going to find out if it’s a boy or a girl today?_

_Me: We decided we want it to be a surprise._

_Mama: Call me tonight, honey, and we can talk about the colors for the quilt I’m making._

 

So he and his parents — or Mama, at least — are on good terms. Jack had indicated as much, but it’s a relief to learn they didn’t disown him when he came out, that he and Mama still seem to be close.

He continues to read through his most recent messages, each one revealing a little more.

 

_Julia Wright: The proofs I sent should arrive today. Please go over them and return ASAP with any changes._

_Me: Thanks, Jules! Jack and I are taking a little weekend getaway to celebrate our anniversary. A few weeks late, since Jack was on a roadie on the real date. I’ll go over those proofs first thing Monday morning._

_Julia Wright: Have a great trip! First time away from the baby?_

_Me: Yes! Lord, I’m so nervous._

_Julia Wright: It’ll be fine. Oh, one more thing: PR is still a little nervous that the new book isn’t really “on brand” for Easy As Pie. They’ve asked that you start talking the concept up on the blog and post of the some recipes to get your fans used to the idea._

_Me: That’s been the plan all along. I think my readers will appreciate the change of pace._

_Julia Wright: We can talk about the timeline a little more during the conference call on Wednesday. Have a great weekend!_

_Me: You too!_

 

Bitty is currently just _barely_ maintaining his NCAA eligibility. Seeing evidence of an actual career, that he seems to be pretty good at, is kind of exciting. He’s written a book! More than one! And is writing a third? He wonders what Mama and MooMaw think about that.

He spends a lot of time texting this Lardo person, who seemed to be in on their weekend plans.

 

_Lardo: So, care to share any deets about this weekend?_

_Me: Well, we’re staying in our usual suite at The Four Seasons._

_Lardo: Oh, obviously._

_Me: I booked an in-room couples massage and I’m surprising Jack with tickets to the Hamilton revival. There’s a nice garden we like to visit. And Jack wants to go to the Whitney to see some photography exhibit._

_Lardo: Oh my god, you two are a couple of old men._

_Me: Jack has always been an old man._

_Lardo: You aren’t going to go to even one club?_

_Me: Larissa Duan, I am a somebody’s father now! I go to bed at a respectable 11:30 p.m._

 

Huh. So Lardo’s a woman and not, as Bitty had guessed, an old teammate.

 

_Lardo: Old. Man._

_Lardo: You know I’m kidding. About you. Jack’s still an old man. Have fun, bro._

_Me: Thanks, Lards._

 

There’s a brief text from Mama, sent on Friday afternoon.

 

_Mama: You boys have fun this weekend! Don’t worry one bit about Carter; you know how much he loves Alicia and Bob. Tell them hi for me, and give that baby a kiss from Grammy!_

 

As Bitty tries to piece together his life via text messages, Jack hums along to a country song on the radio. “Do you think it was something you ate last night?” he finally asks.

“Hmmm?”

“That’s making you feel bad? You said it’s not from the wine, do you think you ate something that didn’t agree with you? The fish? Or — you aren’t getting the flu, are you?”

“I don’t think it’s the flu.” He doesn’t _feel_ feverish. Would the flu cause amnesia?

“We should probably get our flu shots.”

“Maybe this week,” Bitty says.

“Siri,” Jack says, “remind me to get my flu shot tomorrow.”

Bitty giggles.

“What?” Jack asks.

“You just asked Siri to remind you about your flu shot. It’s just …” It’s dorky, is what it is, and also the first predictably Jack Zimmermann thing Jack has done this morning. “It’s funny.”

“Because writing reminders down on random scraps of paper is a better method?” Jack chirps.

Bitty settles back in his seat, almost enjoying this interaction with Jack. Jack seems to be enjoying it, too. He’s smiling and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, and when he briefly takes his eyes off the road to look at Bitty he looks completely smitten.

“I think I might try to rest a little before we get home,” Bitty says, unable to look at Jack looking at him like this. Maybe, if he falls asleep, he’ll wake up where — and _when_ — he’s supposed to be.

“Good idea. Not like we’ll get much time to relax at home.”

Bitty closes his eyes and quickly falls into a state of half-consciousness. He can still hear the radio, and Jack’s occasional humming. Eventually, it lulls him to sleep. He dreams about skating, gliding along an endless sheet of fresh ice.

“Hey, Bits? We’re here. Do you want to come with me to get some coffee and a bite to eat, or do you want to wait here?”

Bitty opens his eyes and looks around. Oh. He’s still in the car, with Jack. They’re stopped at some sort of rest stop, from the looks of it. What was it Jack said earlier? They have to charge?

“Um … sure.” While Bitty gets out and stretches his legs, Jack plugs the car into some sort of charging port. All of the other cars parked here are plugged into similar devices. “Electric,” Bitty whispers. A few weeks ago, Shitty went off on a rant about how his “out of touch old man thinks electric cars are just a liberal pipe dream.” Shitty must be pleased, now, to see his father was on the wrong side of this one.

“We probably need a half hour,” Jack says. “Let’s get some coffee.” He heads in the direction of a Starbucks on the other side of the parking lot. Bitty doesn’t know if he should be happy or disappointed that Starbucks still exists in 2030.

“Can you order?” Bitty asks, once they’re in line. “I need to pee.”

“No problem. The usual?”

Jack’s response is what Bitty was counting on. After this morning’s mistake — he _really_ doesn’t put creamer in his coffee anymore? — he doesn’t want to risk another. “The usual,” Bitty confirms.

When Bitty returns, Jack is sitting at a table for two in the corner. “I ordered you a breakfast sandwich. If you feel up to eating.”

“Thank you.”

Bitty wishes he knew how to make conversation with Jack. What do they talk about? Besides hockey and protein?

“So, uh, I know we said we weren’t going to talk about the baby or work on this trip,” Jack says, a little hesitantly, “but I think we can officially call it since we’re almost home. Do you —”

“Jack!”

“Hold on.” Jack goes up to the counter and brings their order back to their table. He sets a large cup and a breakfast sandwich in front of Bitty.

Bitty turns the cup around until he can read the barista’s scrawl on the side: PSL, almond. He makes a face. What in fresh hell prompted him to give up dairy?

“Did you not want that?” Jack asks. “You said your usual.”

“It’s great! Perfect! I just thought I had to sneeze, you know?”

“Are you sure it’s not the flu?”

“Jack, I’m fine.” He’s not.

“So, like I was saying, we should probably start planning Carter’s birthday party. I know it’s not for another two months, but with the holidays coming up, it’ll be here before we know it.”

“I have a Pinterest board already going!” Bitty replies, only because it sounds like the sort of thing he’d say.

“Nice. I don’t know what you’ve been thinking, but I was thinking something casual at home? Our parents, Shitty and Lardo of course, maybe some of the neighbors and people from work?”

 _Shitty_! Bitty can feel something inside of him relax a little. They’re still friends with Shitty, at least. And, Bitty notes, Jack said Shitty _and_ Lardo. Maybe Lardo is Shitty’s wife?

“Is there anyone from work you’d want to invite?”

“Uh …” Bitty takes a sip of his drink to avoid answering, and tries very very hard not to make another face. Almond milk PSLs are going to take some getting used to.

“I’d like to invite Marty and Thirdy; Tater, too. They keep reminding me they haven’t seen him since he was a newborn. And Tater keeps reminding me he’s out of jam.”

“Sure, honey. I’ll think about it and decide if there’s anybody from work I’d like to invite.”

That seems to satisfy Jack. He smiles at Bitty and takes a huge bite of his sandwich.

“What should the theme be?” Bitty asks. Lord help him if Jack says _hockey_.

“Well, you know how much he loves that teddy bear my parents gave him. What do you think about a teddy bears’ picnic theme?”

That actually sounds really cute. “I can work with that,” Bitty says as ideas begin to swirl in his head. “We can have picnic food and a bunch of different pies. And a smash cake, of course.”

“Yeah, yeah. And we can move all the furniture out of the living room and cover the floor with blankets. Make it feel like summer in January.”

“I’ll get some ideas together,” Bitty says, feeling a sudden rush of affection for Jack. It’s hard to reconcile his gruff, moody captain with this middle-aged dad who is so excited about planning a baby’s birthday party. He wonders where _this_ Jack has been hiding all this time.

They’re on their way out the door when it happens. Bitty’s just about to toss his paper sandwich wrapper into the trash bin when a woman blocks his path. “You’re Eric Bittle!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m such a fan. I told my husband I didn’t want to stop but he insisted on stopping and now you’re here! Can I get a picture?”

“I’ll take it.” Jack comes up behind Bitty and takes the woman’s phone. “Maybe we should move outside.”

They move outside and Bitty allows the woman to put her arm around him and it’s all very surreal. “Thank you so much,” she says. “I can’t wait until the show comes back.”

“Thank you,” Bitty says. Jack doesn’t seem fazed at all. Does this type of thing happen often, he wonders as they get in the car.

“So, according to traffic, we have about 90 minutes left,” Jack says, indicating their estimated time of arrival on the map. “We should be home before nap time.”

Bitty dozes off again shortly after they get on the road, and wakes when he feels Jack’s large hand on his shoulder. “Home, sweet home, Bits,” he says, turning onto a quiet residential street. He approaches one of the homes and slows to a stop to allow the front gate to swing open. Bitty is surprised — and a little relieved — to discover the two story house and nicely landscaped lot are relatively modest given the level of wealth he and Jack seem to have acquired.

Bad Bob and Alicia Zimmermann are sitting on the front porch swing, a baby in Alicia’s lap. She holds one of his tiny hands in hers and waves as they approach. There’s a black dog at their feet. Jack’s parents rise and begin walking toward them as they’re getting out of the car. The dog races ahead of them, making a beeline for Jack.

“Whoa, Daisy girl!” Jack laughs and scolds the dog as she jumps up on him, but he scratches behind her ears anyway. Bitty instinctively steps away. “Down,” Jack commands.

Daisy, who appears to be a lab, lies down on the ground between them — a little too close for Bitty’s liking. Surely, this dog wasn’t _his_ idea.

“Somebody is _so_ excited to see Papa and Daddy!” Alicia greets them. The baby in her arms babbles happily and holds his arms out toward his fathers.

The first thing Bitty notices are his eyes. They’re large and brown, and so like Bitty’s there’s no question that this is his child. His hair, though sparse, is a pale blond and seems to have a little bit of curl to it. And his cheeks — Bitty laughs to himself — his cheeks are so round and squeezable. Bitty reaches out a finger and gently pokes one. “Hey, there, sweetheart,” he whispers, mesmerized by whatever spell Carter has cast on him.

Carter giggles and lunges toward Bitty and he has no choice but to catch him so he doesn’t fall. “He’s been doing that all weekend,” Alicia says. “He’s getting strong.”

“Thinks it’s a game,” Bad Bob adds. “Wants Alicia when he’s with me, and wants me when he’s with Alicia.”

“He started doing that last week,” Jack says, chuckling. “Hey, little guy,” he says to Carter. “We missed you.”

Carter, who has apparently had enough of Bitty for now, lunges toward Jack, arms outstretched. Everybody laughs.

“I think he’s getting tired though,” Alicia says as they head inside. “He’s already had his lunch and we’ve been reading to him out on the swing but I noticed his eyes are getting droopy.”

Indeed, Carter is resting his head on Jack’s shoulder and looks as though he’s going to fall asleep any minute. “I’ll go put him down,” Jack says. “The pediatrician keeps reminding us we need to stop waiting until he’s already asleep.”

“I’ll go with you,” Bitty says. “Please, feel free to sit and make yourselves comfortable,” he tells Jack’s parents. Even amnesia can’t make him forget his manners.

Bitty tries to take in as much as he can about the house and its layout as they make their way upstairs to the baby’s room. It’s larger than his parents’ house in Madison, but not outrageous. He doesn’t think he’ll get lost, at least. He peeks into the open doors as they pass them. One seems to be the an office, the other the bedroom he and Jack share. The baby’s room is next to their bedroom. Two more closed doors hint at additional bedrooms.

Carter’s walls are a muted yellow and adorned with cute animal illustrations. The same family picture from Bitty’s phone hangs above the changing table. A quilt— maybe the one Suzanne mentioned in the family chat — hangs on the wall next to the crib. The furniture — a crib, a changing table, and a rocking chair — are simple and sturdy looking. A few toys and books are displayed in a bookcase in the corner.

“All right, big boy. Time for bed.” Jack drops a kiss to the top of the baby’s head so Bitty does the same. “We’ll see you when you wake up.” He gently lays Carter down in the crib. Bitty wonders if he’ll cry, but he simply rolls over onto his side, sighs, and closes his eyes.

“Did he go down okay?” Alicia asks when they return.

“Already asleep,” Jack says.

“We thought we could stay a little while so we can take you to dinner,” Bad Bob offers. “Sound good?”

“Ah, maybe not this time, Papa. Bitty isn’t feeling well. I think we’ll just stay in and rest.”

“Want to make the second honeymoon last a little longer before Jack has to leave for the next roadie, eh?” Bad Bob winks knowingly at Bitty and oh lord, this may be the most embarrassing moment of Bitty’s life.

“Bobby!” Alicia gives him a little swat on the arm but she’s laughing, too. “You do look a little pale, honey. Jack, make sure you take care of him.”

“I will, Maman,” Jack says, walking with them to the door.

“We’ll see you on Wednesday, right?” Bad Bob asks Bitty. “To babysit while you’re on your conference call? If you don’t mind the company afterward, we can order takeout and watch Jack’s game.”

“Oh, right! I don’t know where my head is at, that’ll be perfect.” Bitty gives each Zimmermann parent an awkward hug.

“Let me know if you need anything before Wednesday,” Alicia says as they embrace. “I remember those days when Jack was little and Bobby was away on roadies. Sometimes you just need an extra set of hands and another adult to talk to.”

“Well,” Jack says after they’ve walked his parents to their car, “since we’ve got a little bit of time, do you want to catch up on the shows we’ve missed?”

“I think ... Do you mind if I take a walk? I think the fresh air’ll do me some good.”

“Are you feeling up to it?” Jack looks concerned again.

Not really, no. Bitty has no idea where they are, other than a vague feeling that they’re in some fancy Boston suburb, and he’s worried about getting lost. But he needs to be away from Jack, needs time to figure things out. He’s always found it easier to work out his problems when he can get out on the ice and zone out a little, just skate and let his mind wander. He can’t skate right now, obviously, but a walk might have a similar effect.

“I’m okay, Jack. I just need to move around a little. All that time in the car, I’m feeling a little stiff.” He is, actually. He wonders if it’s a side effect of having a body that’s aged 17 years overnight.

“Okay, yeah. I want to watch the highlights from this weekend’s games, anyway.”

Bitty take a moment to orient himself outside of their house. Their neighborhood is old and very New England. Or, what Bitty thinks of as New England, given he’s only lived here for a few months. Most of the leaves have fallen from the trees, but he can tell they provide nice shade in the summer and early fall. The houses, like their own, are set back from the road. A few have pumpkins set out on the porch; one particularly enthusiastic homeowner has already put up holiday lights. It seems like a nice place to live, a nice place to raise a family. 

A family of four — mother, father, two school-aged children — ride by on their bikes and call out to Bitty as they pass. He waves back, wondering if they’re friends who made the birthday party list or just the sort of neighbors they say hi to when they see them around the neighborhood.

Bitty walks all the way to the end of the block and back, twice. By the time he returns home, he’s still no closer to understanding his situation than he was this morning.

He’s cold. He doesn’t realize how cold he is until he gets inside and finds he’s shivering. Jack notices, though, and wordlessly hands him a blanket and pats the spot next to him on the couch. “Schooners are looking good this season. Sharks, too.”

Bitty wraps the blanket around himself and allows Jack to pull him close as they watch the highlights Jack’s recorded from some NHL feed. At some point the dog joins them and puts her head in Bitty’s lap and he’s stuck.

Stuck on a couch in a house that isn’t really his, in between a man and a dog who seem to love him. And he doesn’t understand why.

When Jack seems satisfied with the highlights he’s watched, he turns toward Bitty and asks, again, if he wants to “catch up on our shows.” 

They’re halfway through an episode of a young chefs cooking competition elimination show when their phones chime simultaneously. Jack picks his up. “Baby’s up,” he says. When Bitty glances over his shoulder, he sees video footage of the baby’s room. Carter is sitting up in the crib, happily talking to himself.

“Do you want to take him to the park?” Jack asks.

“That sounds fun,” Bitty says, carefully. As long as he doesn’t have to take him to the park by himself. He didn’t see a park on his walk.

“I’ll get Daisy ready if you get Carter ready.”

Bitty swallows hard but forces a smile. A baby, at least, is something he can handle. Between helping Mama out in the church nursery and babysitting his little cousins, Bitty has changed plenty of diapers and played countless games of peek-a-boo. He’s even pretty sure he remembers how to make a bottle. How hard can it be, really, to get a baby ready for the park?

“You’ve got this, Bittle,” he tells himself as he approaches the baby’s room. “You’ve got this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This concept hit me like a truck while I was in the middle of writing and editing a different fic, and I thought it might just end up being a short little thing I posted to Tumblr. It quickly demanded more than that, and here we are. Thank you for all of the kind comments and kudos so far!


	4. Chapter 4

Bitty and Jack have a nice life.

That’s what Bitty decides after they’ve spent an hour at the park pushing Carter on the swing and throwing a ball for Daisy. After they’ve cooked together and eaten dinner. After they’ve played with Carter and bathed him.

He can tell they’re happy. It’s evident in the way Carter lights up whenever either one of them enters the room, and the way Jack sings to Carter as he splashes in the tub. After his bath, Jack wraps Carter in a yellow duck towel and pulls the hood down over his eyes. He giggles and snuggles closer to Jack. It’s so easy to fall in love with them and this life they have. It’s something Bitty wants.

But he’s missing 17 years in between yesterday and now, and he wants that, too.

“Do you want to walk Daisy or do the dishes?” Jack asks after they’ve given Carter his goodnight kisses and are heading back downstairs.

Bitty most definitely does _not_ want to walk the dog, who has proven to be a nice dog but is still _a dog_. “I’ll do the dishes and keep an ear out for the baby,” he offers.

Jack looks grateful. “Thanks, Bits. I think I’ll take her for a jog. I feel like we were a little lazy today.”

God forbid Jack Zimmermann go a day without working out, Bitty thinks. At least some things haven’t changed.

If there’s one silver lining to whatever weird state of existence Bitty is in right now, it’s this kitchen. He felt a little faint earlier today when he walked in it for the first time and saw the built-in Sub-Zero fridge and professional Wolf range. Cheerful pops of red in the curtains, stand mixer, and clock provide a contrast to the bright white cabinets and dark wood floor. And then there’s his cookware. Mama may say money can’t buy happiness, but it it can certainly buy all the copper pots and cerise Le Creuset a gay boy from Georgia could ever want. Bitty’s elbows deep in a sink full of soapy water when Jack reappears downstairs wearing a pair of running shorts, a close-fitting half-zip pullover, knit hat, and yellow running shoes. He’s so handsome Bitty wants to scream.

“We’ll be back in a bit, Bits,” Jack calls as he and Daisy leave. 

As Bitty is putting the last of the dishes in the dishwasher, he asks himself what he would do in this situation. Not what he, Samwell freshman-Bitty would do, but what 35-year-old-professional cookbook author-married-father of a baby-Bitty would do. He decides they would do the same thing: make dessert.

Bitty opens cupboards and pulls items from pantry shelves, intuitively finding ingredients and baking supplies according to how he guesses he'd have organized the kitchen. By the time Jack gets home, he’s putting a hastily thrown together apple-pear crumble in the oven.

“Are you making dessert?” Jack asks, sticking his head in the kitchen.

“Just a quick little crumble. Not my favorite but — ”

“I know. You’re trying to be healthier.” Jacks joins Bitty at the oven and hip checks him. “Not that this is much healthier than pie.”

“It just seems like a crumble night.”

“I miss your pie,” Jack pouts — and this is another side of Jack Zimmermann Bitty has never seen. As far as Bitty knows, Jack has always steadfastly refused to eat his pie. “As soon as you finish the new book, I’m requesting pie.”

“You can request pie anytime you want, honey,” Bitty says, feeling a little bold now that he’s in his comfort zone, and a little pleased to know his cooking eventually won Jack over. “Just shower first. You stink.”

While the crumble bakes, Bitty puts the kettle on and finds some tea in a cupboard. Daisy lies down near him. “Really?” he whispers. “I allow you in my kitchen?” Daisy closes her eyes and begins to snore.

By the time Jack comes back down, showered and dressed in a pair of basketball shorts and a Bruins shirt, the tea is steeping and the kitchen is filled with the aroma of apples and spices.

“Tea, too?” Jack asks, putting his arms around Bitty from behind and pulling him close. “You’re so good to me.”

“You smell better.”

“It’s that fancy stuff you bought me for my birthday.”

“I have good taste,” Bitty says, as much to himself as to Jack.

“You know,” Jack mumbles into the back of Bitty’s neck, “we could save the crumble for tomorrow and just go to bed early, eh?”

He presses several little kisses to the back of Bitty’s neck and _oh_ , Jack’s idea of bed right now is definitely not Bitty’s idea of bed.

Bitty’s sex life, up until today, has amounted to a series of private moments in the shower or locked in his bedroom at home. It’s not a surprise, really, that he and Jack — based on Lardo’s insinuations and Jack’s very affectionate touches — have a healthy and active sex life. It’s just that he’s never even had a proper first kiss. (He’s not counting any of the casual kisses Jack has given him today.) He’s definitely not ready for anything approaching what Jack seems to be in the mood to do right now.

“I—” Bitty suddenly can’t look Jack in the eye. “I don’t think —”

“Still not feeling great?”

“If I do have a touch of something, I wouldn’t want you to get it. You have games this week.”

Jack looks disappointed but nods in understanding. “You’re probably right. I’ve already got the rookies calling me an old man because I’m not as fast as they are. Don’t want to get sick and give them something else to chirp me about.”

“I hope that’s okay. Dessert’ll be ready in a few.”

They eat on the couch while watching another episode of the cooking competition and the local news. “This is good, Bits,” Jack says appreciatively during a commercial. “Is it going in the new book?”

“Um,” Bitty hedges. “Maybe. You really like it?”

“Well, it’s not your apple pie. But it’s still delicious.”

“Maybe I’ll name it after you. We can call it Apple Jack Crumble.”

“Ha ha. I like it.”

This is the first time Jack has told Bitty he _likes_ something he’s made. It makes Bitty feel warm and glowy. If he ever gets back to Samwell, and the time he’s supposed to be in, he’s going to make this for Jack, he decides.

As soon as the news ends, Jack gets up, stretches, and announces its time for bed.

While Jack brushes his teeth, Bitty roots through the dresser drawers for something that looks like sleepwear. His finally grabs a large Bruins shirt like the one Jack’s wearing, figuring it’s close enough to what he was wearing when he woke up this morning.

He resolves to stay on his side of the bed, far away from Jack. But Jack keeps moving closer and closer until they’re pressed up against each other. His hand finds Bitty’s leg and gives his knee a little squeeze. Bitty’s whole body tenses as Jack’s hand creeps higher and higher.

“Jack, I —”

But Jack stops there and just finds Bitty’s hand and loosely tangles their fingers together. “Love you, Bits,” he whispers.

“I love you, too,” Bitty replies, knowing that some version of him, at least, feels that way.

At 3:55 a.m., Bitty is violently ripped from what was already a fitful sleep by crying coming from the baby’s room. It figures that Jack Zimmermann, who makes a habit of waking him at unholy hours, would have a son who does the same.

At first Bitty tries to sleep through it, but the wails soon become too shrill to ignore. Jack groans and pokes Bitty. “Can you?” he mumbles. “I’ll feed him breakfast so you can sleep in.”

Bitty’s been sleeping fitfully anyway, so he quietly gets out of bed and walks the few steps to the nursery.

“It’s okay, honey,” Bitty says as he approaches the crib. “Daddy’s here.”

The nightlight provides just enough illumination for Bitty to see that Carter is standing up in the crib, using the rail for support. His cries slow, a bit, when he hears Bitty. Instinct takes over and Bitty scoops him up, holding him close.

“Do you have a wet diaper? Is that why you’re so upset?” It doesn’t feel wet but Bitty changes him anyway, a process made more difficult by Carter attempting to roll over while Bitty struggles to fasten the diaper and zip up his sleeper.

Bitty’s presence and a clean diaper may have helped a bit, but Carter’s still upset. “Do you want to be rocked?” They rocked him before they put him down for the night; maybe he’s used to being rocked.

As he rocks and rubs Carter’s back, he wonders how long he’s going to be stuck here, an 18-year-old college freshman in a 35-year-old’s life. As much as he likes the idea, he can’t keep pretending to be Jack’s husband and Carter’s father. That alone has been exhausting and that’s all he’s had to do today! What is he going to do tomorrow, when he has to pretend to do his job and go over ‘proofs,’ whatever those are? What is he going to do if — god forbid — he’s still stuck here when he has to film an episode of his TV show? Will he just pretend forever?

Fifteen minutes. It takes fifteen minutes for Carter’s cries to subside and for his eyes to close. But when Bitty stands, he begins whimpering again.

“Oh, lord, baby, do you do this every night?”

Bitty doesn’t know if he’s ever felt so helpless. He paces. He rocks. He sets Carter in his crib and rubs his back. Each time he breaks contact Carter screws up his face and begins to cry. Only Bitty’s touch and soothing words seem to help. He can relate. He suddenly wants, more than anything, to hug his mama and hear her tell him everything is going to be okay.

She can, he realizes. He might not be able to see her or touch her, and he can’t really tell her _why_ he needs her right now, but he _can_ talk to her. Cradling Carter against his shoulder, he quietly pads back to his bedroom and takes his phone from the nightstand. Jack grunts softly and turns over at the sound, but doesn’t wake. Back in the nursery, Bitty sits with Carter — who is still whimpering — and begins a text.

 

Me: Hi, Mama. You’re probably not awake right now, but I am. I guess I just wanted to tell you I love you.

 

He’s not expecting a reply but he gets one anyway.

 

Mama: Dicky! Is everything okay? You and Jack and the baby?

Me: We’re fine, Mama. Carter won’t go back to sleep and I’m just feeling a little lonely. I don’t want to wake Jack.

Mama: Well, you gave me a scare, texting at this hour. I bet you anything that baby is teething. Check his gums in the morning and give him some infant Motrin. Try giving him a cold washcloth to chew on, too. That always helped you.

Me: I didn’t know that.

Mama: I could have sworn I told you that last month when you were worrying about how he hadn’t cut a tooth yet.

Me: I probably just forgot.

Mama: I know these nights are hard, baby. I used to sit up with you and cry sometimes. It gets easier.

 

He doesn’t know how Mama knows. It should make him feel better, but it just makes him miss her more. 

 

Me: Thanks, Mama. Sorry for waking you. I love you.

Mama: I love you too, sweetie. Call me tomorrow if he isn’t feeling better.

 

Bitty doesn’t even know he’s crying until he realizes the top of Carter’s head is all wet. “Oh, baby,” he whispers. “We’re a mess, aren’t we?”

Carter responds by crying harder, as though nothing in the world will make it better. Bitty kind of knows how he feels.

 

He wakes to the sound of a camera shutter. When he opens his eyes, sunlight is pouring in through the window behind him and Jack is standing in the doorway. “Beautiful,” he breathes, lowering his phone and pausing to give him a sweet smile.

Bitty is, somehow, still holding the baby, who is contentedly sleeping on his chest. When he sits up a little and adjusts him he feels his squishy diaper, warm and heavy with what he sincerely hopes is just pee. Carter opens his eyes and smiles up at him, last night’s drama apparently forgotten. “Da!” He brings a small hand to Bitty’s face and pats his cheek.

“That’s right, that’s Dada,” Jack says encouragingly. “Can you say ‘Papa?’”

“Da!” Carter laughs. Jack laughs with him.

“Feeling better?” Bitty asks Carter. To Jack, he says, “I think he’s teething.”

“That would explain a lot. Do you see anything?” Jack kneels next to them and peers into Carter's mouth, then runs a finger along his gums. “I think … _maybe_ I feel something?”

“Who knew a little tooth could cause so much trouble? I’m exhausted.”

“I’m afraid this is just the beginning,” Jack says with a wry smile. “I meant it when I said I’d take care of breakfast, if you want to go back to sleep for a little while.”

“I’m good.” As tired as he is, Bitty doesn’t think he’d actually sleep if he had to go back to that big bed in his strange bedroom. “All right, cutie, I think you need a new diaper, and I need to get up.” His knees and back, and even his arms, ache from sitting in the same position for so long.

“I’ll get him,” Jack says, setting his phone on the changing table and taking the baby from Bitty. “Wow, you’re all wet, huh?” He kisses Carter on his head, then gently sets him down on the table and unzips his sleeper. “I don’t have to be at practice for another hour,” Jack says as he efficiently wipes Carter’s bottom and replaces the soiled diaper with a clean one. “We can have breakfast together, if it’s quick.”

“Jack, I —” Bitty can’t do this anymore. He can’t keep lying to Jack, pretending this is all normal. He kind of hates himself for what he’s about to do. He’s never seen Jack so purely happy like this, and now he’s going to ruin it by telling him he has no memory of this beautiful life they have.

“Yeah?” Jack fasteners the diaper tabs and begins doing up the snaps on Carter’s onesie.

“I don’t know how I got here.”

“I think Carter woke up around four. You must have fallen asleep while you were rocking him.”

“No. I mean … I don’t know how I got _here_. With you and Carter. _Us_.”

Jack chuckles. “Yeah, I get it. Sometimes I wonder what my 23-year-old self would think of all of this.”

That’s exactly it. The opening he needs. “Yes! Jack, I think there’s something really wrong with me. I don’t remember — I _can’t_ remember anything about our life. Or anything! I can’t remember anything after that game against Yale my freshman year. The last time I saw you before yesterday morning, you were mad at me. You told me my goal was a lucky shot. And then I went back to my dorm and went to bed and when I woke up yesterday I was in a hotel with you.”

“Ha ha.”

“No, Jack.” The panic he felt yesterday morning is beginning to take over. “ _I don’t know how I got here_.”

“Bits, I know you’ve been under a lot of stress with the book deadline and the baby and now hockey starting again, but I don’t want you to feel overwhelmed. Why don’t we call my parents and see if they’ll watch Carter so you can make an appointment with your therapist? Or, maybe we can both go and talk about how we can support each other these next few months. Things are only going to get busier before they calm down.”

Jack’s calm, gentle support does the opposite of its intended effect. Now Bitty’s just good and mad because Jack isn’t _getting_ it. “ _Jack Zimmermann_. Listen to me. I never met your mama before yesterday. I _just_ met your daddy before the game the other night. He congratulated me on my goal and said we should try playing on the same line. The only reason I got through yesterday at all was because I read our Wikipedia pages and all of my text messages. I have no idea who Lardo is, or this person named Julia who keeps texting me about work. I didn’t know we had a son!”

Jack slowly picks up the baby and holds him to his chest, as though he’s worried this person who has been impersonating his husband for the past 24 hours is going to steal his soul.

"You really just ... _don't remember us_?"

"I remember you, Jack! You're my captain at Samwell, but we're not friends. You make me go to checking practice and yell at me about eating protein."

"But you don't remember _us_ ," Jack whispers.

“I’m sorry!” Bitty says through his tears.

“Oh, bud.” Bitty expects Jack to pull him in for a hug, but all he gets is the sad look he was expecting when he made the decision to tell Jack. He turns away. “I need to feed Carter,” he says softly.

Bitty follows Jack into the kitchen, where coffee is already brewing and Daisy is waiting by her dish. Jack puts Carter in his high chair and pulls a box of Cheerios out of the pantry. He sprinkles a few on Carter’s tray and sets to work peeling a banana. He doesn’t speak to Bitty, just talks to Carter in soothing tones as he hands him a bowl full of sliced bananas and Cheerios. While Carter feeds himself, Jack prepares a bottle.

Instead of moving to help, like he would have last night, Bitty watches like the outside observer he is. “Do you want me to feed Daisy?” he finally asks.

“I can do it.” Jack’s reply is curt, his mouth set in a firm line. He goes into the pantry and returns with a cup of dry dog food, which he dumps into her bowl.

Bitty expects Jack to prepare his own breakfast next, but he leaves the room without explanation. Bitty would follow but he’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to leave an infant alone in a high chair.

Jack returns, sees Bitty and seems to remember why he’s upset, and exits again.

This Jack — silent but for the occasional grunt, sullen, pacing back and forth — this is the Jack Bitty knows. This, Bitty can deal with. This Jack is so much more predictable than the one who gives him hugs and kisses and looks at him like he hung the moon.

“You could say something,” Bitty says after 20 minutes of this. Jack leaves the room.

When he returns, he’s dressed in his running clothes. “I’m going for a run. Just ... clean Carter up and put him in his play yard when he finishes his breakfast.”

“Aren’t you going to morning skate?”

Jack doesn’t reply, just lets the front door slam behind him.

Bitty zones out until the sound of something hitting the floor and distressed whimpers pull him out of his own head. When he looks over, Carter is straining to get out of the high chair.

“Oh, hey, baby. Did you throw your bowl?” 

At the sound of his voice, Carter stops struggling and holds his arms out toward Bitty. Cautiously, he approaches the highchair and removes the tray so he can unbuckle the restraint and lift him out.

“Hi, sweetheart, you’re pretty sticky, aren’t you? We should get you washed up before you play.” There’s a clean dishtowel on the counter. Bitty wets a corner with tap water and uses it to wipe Carter’s face and hands. “That’s better. Do you want to play with your toys now?”

The play area, a patch of floor covered with foam mats and blankets and surrounded by a short, colorful fence, is stocked with soft blocks, board books, some small balls, and a few stuffed animals. Bitty sits with Carter and helps him stack his blocks, counting each one. He’s reading _The Very Hungry Caterpillar_ to him when he hears the front door open, followed by Jack’s approaching footsteps.

“So, um, I’m sorry I got upset and just left like that,” Jack says, climbing over the gate and sitting down next to Bitty. He doesn’t sound as upset as he did before he left, but Bitty doesn’t dare look at him. “I, uh, think you should see a doctor.”

“I’m not going crazy, Jack.”

“I don’t think you’re going crazy. I think —”

“You think there’s something wrong with me in my head, right? Because I think I time traveled here or something?”

“At first, yeah,” Jack says, not unkindly. “A few times when my anxiety has gotten bad I’ve dissociated and kind of not felt like I’m _here,_ I guess would be the way I’d describe it. I thought the stress of these past few months might have gotten to you; I won’t blame you if it has. But …”

“But?” Bitty hands a blue block to Carter, who carefully stacks it on top of a red block and holds his hand out for another.

Jack takes a deep breath and slowly exhales. “Um, you obviously don’t remember, but you got a concussion toward the end of your freshman year. It was pretty serious. I’m a little worried this has something to do with that.”

“Oh.” Bitty hadn’t considered a head injury as the reason for all of this. It does make a little more sense than time travel. “Do you think —”

“There’s been a lot of new research about head injuries in contact sports. I don’t understand all of the science, but a lot of hockey and football players are still suffering from the effects of head trauma they experienced years ago. Most sports have adopted new rules to help prevent head injuries. The gear they make us wear now is a lot safer than it was when we were at Samwell. I just think you should have it checked out. There’a a specialist who’s kind of well known in the league, I can probably pull some strings to get you in.”

Now that Jack is starting to talk about head trauma, and specialists, Bitty is really starting to worry. Not that he wasn’t worried before, but somehow time travel as an explanation for his current situation, though improbable, sounds a lot less scary than a brain injury.

“You can do that?”

“There are some perks to being an NHL captain,” Jack says. “Not to mention, rich.”

“I guess that wouldn’t hurt to try,” Bitty says. He hands Carter a green block and claps when he successfully sets it on top of the blue block. Jack hands him a purple block. They take turns giving him blocks, clapping every time Carter adds to his tower. When he places the last block and knocks it down, he laughs and laughs.

They help Carter build and destroy three towers before he gets bored and crawls off toward his bear. When Bitty finally takes his eye off the baby and looks at Jack, his eyes look sad.

“It was my fault,” Jack finally says. “Your concussion. I ran a bad play. You told me it was too risky but I didn’t listen. I wanted to win, and I put that ahead of everything else.”

 _Oh._ This explains a lot about Jack’s reaction. He’s mad at himself, not Bitty, because he still blames himself for what happened all those years ago.

“I’m sure I forgave you, Jack,” Bitty says now. He must have, if they managed to fall in love.

Jack gives him a tight smile. “Yeah. You never blamed me, but it took me a while to stop hating myself for it. It’s still hard to think about. I’ve seen lots of guys go down, lots of injuries, but nothing has ever scared me like that.”

“Oh.”

“We’re going to figure this out together, Bits. I called in to work while I was out, and asked for a week off.”

“Jack. You can’t —”

“What are they gonna do, really? I’ve been a leading scorer every year since my rookie year. In 15 years I’ve never asked for time off, except for three days when Papa had surgery and two weeks when Carter was born. It's not like my entire future is riding on how well I play this season. If they want to cut me loose seven months before I retire because they think I'm not pulling my weight _because my husband is sick_ , let them. I'll be fine.”

“But your team —” The last thing Bitty wants is to be a burden, another child Jack has to take care of.

“We have a great assistant captain and I’ll make sure I go in and talk to everyone before they leave on the roadie. Management understands. I’m not the first player to have a family crisis.”

Now Bitty is crying in earnest. He’s not sure if it’s from relief that he’s finally told Jack, or from fear that there really is something very wrong with him. It doesn’t feel like a brain injury, but what if Jack’s right? What if this is all some sort of delayed onset memory loss related to whatever happend to him at the end of his freshman season?

What if he’s broken, and he can’t be fixed?


	5. Chapter 5

By some unspoken agreement, the entire family retreats to the kitchen. It seems to be the family hub, which makes sense given how much time Bitty must spend in here for work.

Jack sets his laptop up at the breakfast bar and spends most of the morning looking grave while reading articles and making calls. Occasionally, he hums to himself and scrawls something on a legal pad. On the floor, Carter crawls after Daisy and plays with a set of soft silicone baking tools. Bitty does what he does best, and bakes. What was it Jack said last night? He’s trying to be healthier? Screw that.

“What are you making?” Jack asks, not looking up from the article he’s reading on his computer.

“Cinnamon rolls.”

“Interesting choice.”

“It’s a nice fall treat. I know it’s probably not on your diet plan or whatever, but —”

“I’m retiring. I can eat a few cinnamon rolls.”

“Do you use that excuse for everything these days?”

“I mean—” Jack shrugs — “I’m retiring.”

Bitty laughs. “All right, if you insist. I’ll put extra icing on yours.” He goes back to rolling out his dough. His head feels clearer, his heart lighter, since telling Jack. Yes, it’s terrifying that he can’t account for 17 years of his life. And he’s living with somebody who is basically a stranger, and he’s got a kid and a dog and a job he’s definitely neglecting right now. But at least he can stop pretending he knows what he’s doing.

Except for these cinnamon rolls. He knows what he’s doing with these cinnamon rolls. They’re beautiful, perfect pinwheels stuffed with cinnamon and brown sugar and coated with a healthy layer of butter. Is Instagram still a thing? These are Instagram-worthy cinnamon rolls, he decides, as he puts them in the oven to bake.

“Are you finding anything out?” he asks, taking a seat at the bar.

“Just reading some articles about CTE — that’s, uh, the brain disease caused by repetitive trauma.”

“I think Coach Murray mentioned it in one of our safety talks.”

“Probably. I’m not a doctor, I don’t know much about it. But a few of Papa’s friends … The past few years have been pretty rough. He went to a reunion a few years ago and one of his old lineys didn’t even recognize him.”

“And you think I might have that?”

“You didn’t play very long, so it sounds like that’s in your favor. Everything I’m reading here says it’s usually repetitive trauma that causes it. But symptoms can lie dormant for years and begin manifesting at around your age. It’s weird because all of these articles say personality changes usually appear before the memory problems begin. Maybe the doctor will be able to explain why you didn’t experience that.”

“ _If_ this CTE thing is what I have.”

“Right. _If_.” Jack doesn’t look convinced.

“Well, potential brain injury aside, the rest of me feels great. Mostly. I’m still getting used to this body. Jack, does everything just hurt all the time when you get old?”

Jack cracks a smile. “Pretty much, yeah. Although I think _that one_ has aged us both a bit, too.” He casts a fond glance at Carter, who is happily gnawing on a green silicone spatula.

While Jack continues to follow links and take notes, Bitty finds and opens the Instagram app on his phone. His feed is dominated by photos of happy families and children, vacation photos, and food photography. He squints at the faces in the personal photos, especially the selfies, wondering if he’ll recognize anybody. He doesn’t.

Switching to his own feed, he instinctively glances at his follower count and does a double take — the last he looked, he was just about to break a thousand, thanks mostly to being an athlete on one of Samwell’s most visible teams. Now, more than 600,000 people are interested in Bitty’s posts. There’s a little blue check next to his name, too, and he can’t lie, it gives him a little thrill.

Scrolling through his pictures, he learns he seems to favor family photos focused on Carter and Jack, although there are a few “work” photos, so designated with the hashtag #EAP3BehindtheScenes. The most recent photo, posted just two days ago, is a selfie of Bitty and Jack on the rooftop of the Whitney Museum. Bitty can’t quite get over how comfortable and affectionate they look, arms around each other like the happy couples he’s always envied.

Bitty doesn’t touch Jack. He’s always made a point of _not_ touching him, even as he’s become more used to the rough and tumble ways of the boys on the team. Jack is off limits. Before yesterday he could no sooner imagine touching Jack Zimmermann than he could coming out to his parents.

This picture is proof he’s done both.

 

> “Postcard from the Whitney. First stop on our baby-free weekend,” he’d written below. It has several thousand likes and dozens of comments, but Bitty focuses on the names he recognizes and the comments he responded to.
> 
> **ShittyLawyer** : You went away for a romantic weekend and didn’t invite me?
> 
> **JLZ1** : Your invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.
> 
> **BadBob** : We’re having a great time. Baby’s first knife throwing lesson was a success!
> 
> **EricBittleZimmermann** : You are never babysitting again.
> 
> **LarisssaDuanArt** : Put in a good word for me!
> 
> **EricBittleZimmermann** : You know you’ll be in there someday, @LarissaDuanArt!
> 
> **GeorgiaMartin** : You two look great!
> 
> **EricBittleZimmermann** : You’re so sweet. If only you could see how tired we are behind those sunglasses!
> 
> **SharksChow** : Have fun!
> 
> **EricBittleZimmermann** : Thanks, @SharksChow! Any advice for the first trip away from the baby?
> 
> **SharksChow** : Sleep in.
> 
> **D_Nurse** : Text if you want to meet for drinks.
> 
> **EricBittleZimmermann** : Probably not this time, but thanks for the offer!

The next most recent photo in his feed is a colorful ceramic bowl filled with what looks like orange ice cream.

 

> “Sometimes even pros have to reinvent the wheel. I’ve been busy in my kitchen testing recipes for my next book. They’re all lightened up, “healthier” versions of your favorite treats, including frozen desserts like this mango sorbet. It’s just as creamy as real ice cream, thanks to coconut milk, and it’s got a little bit of tartness thanks to pineapple juice. The best part is that you can make it in 5 minutes. Get the recipe now on the Easy as Pie blog (link in profile). Remember, you can preorder Easy As Pie 3: The Lighter Side at your favorite online retailer! Photo credit: @JLZ1  #EAP3BehindtheScenes

Bitty scrolls some more. There’s Jack, in reading glasses, holding a towel-swaddled Carter after his bath. Daisy running at the park. Jack taking a bite out of an “oatmeal chocolate chip protein cookie.” Mama and Coach sitting on the porch swing with Carter. All three are beaming, and Bitty feels something relax inside of him. 

Fascinated, he continues his trip through his recent past: cans of homemade jam lined up on the kitchen counter, an action shot of Jack in a game against the Falconers, Carter in a Bruins onesie, homemade granola. He takes a closer look at a professional photo that looks like it was taken on the set of a cooking show.

 

> “I was honored to be a guest judge on Teen Dessert Masters. The challenge of the day was pie, and these three competitors could have taught me a thing or two when I was their age! To find out who wins, tune into Food Network at 8 p.m. this Friday!” #teendessertmasters

The last photo he looks at before he closes the app is one of him and Jack, much younger, kissing on the ice:

 

> “tbt to that time Jack and I did *that*. It wasn’t how we planned to come out, but it’s part of our story now. Whether you’re out and proud, have just come out, or are still trying to find the words, remember somebody out there has your back. #nationalcomingoutday”

So this is his life.

He doesn’t remember any of it. But he can do his best with what he’s been given. And he can start with the cinnamon rolls. After they’ve cooled a bit and he’s spread the tops with icing, he quietly switches over to his phone’s camera app and takes a quick picture.

“So you remember how to Instapost, eh?” Jack asks without looking up.

“I know you know it’s Instagram. I saw your account. You post almost as often as I do.”

“I like photography. It’s relaxing.”

“Kind of like baking is for me, huh?”

Jack smiles. “Something like that, yeah.”

Bitty scoots his chair closer to Jack’s. “Can I ask you some things? I’ve been going through my Instagram and I have questions about … my work?”

“Yeah, I guess you probably do.” Jack closes his laptop and focuses his attention on Bitty. “Where do you want to start?”

“Well, I’ve written some books, right? Can I see them?”

Jack leaps to his feet, as though he’s just noticed the stove is on fire. “I should show you your office. I’m sorry, I’ve been so focused on contacting this doctor and researching …”

“It’s okay,” Bitty reassures him. “I mean, it’s not like seeing it now or later is gonna change anything. I just thought it could be helpful, you know?

“Right. Maybe seeing your things will trigger your memory.”

Bitty doesn’t want to voice his concern that if seeing his supposed husband and son didn’t trigger his memory, his _work_ probably won’t trigger his memory either, but Jack looks so hopeful he can’t help but follow him. Jack scoops Carter up from the floor on their way upstairs and narrates for both of them.

“So, uh, this is your office,” he says, opening the door to the room Bitty glanced in yesterday. “Or, your _home_ office. You have to travel a few times a year to film things for the show or make guest appearances on other stuff, but this is where you do your all of your writing and take conference calls.”

As home offices go, it’s fairly typical, but Bitty can see evidence of his personal touch: photos and a Beyoncé poster on the wall above his desk, a shelf filled with cookbooks, a mug full of colored pens. Two little Lego hockey players with Jack's number on their jerseys are posed on the desk, along with a framed newborn photo of Carter. He steps closer to the wall to get a better look at those photos. A candid shot from their wedding, Bitty laughing as Jack stoically slips the ring on his finger. More baby photos. A group picture of the Samwell team, although he doesn’t recognize most of the faces and — “Jack, am I wearing the ‘C’ in that picture?”

“Ha ha. Yeah, bud, you were captain your senior year.”

“Oh my lord.”

“Papa's not the only hockey player in the family. Your daddy’s pretty good, too,” Jack says. He’s talking to Carter but looking at Bitty when he says it.

“But checking …”

“We worked through it together. You grew a lot while you were at Samwell.”

“I thought about going home,” Bitty admits. That was only two days ago. He’s still thinking about it, assuming he ever gets back.

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“I guess I’m glad I didn’t, too,” Bitty says, unable to tear his eyes from Jack’s.

Jack puts a hand on Bitty’s shoulder, turning him slightly toward the bookshelf. “Your books are here. Most of these are by other chefs and bakers you admire, but yours are up here too.” And they are; alongside the Ina Gartens and David Lebovitzes and the spiral bound church cookbook Mama used to keep on the kitchen counter are a couple of Eric Bittles: _Easy as Pie_ and _Easy as Pie 2: The Savory Pies_.

“That’s me,” Bitty breathes, running his finger over his name on one of the spines.

“All you,” Jack confirms.

“And I’m working on another?”

“It’s in there, I think.” Jack taps a cardboard box that’s sitting on the desk.

“Proofs, is what the text said? Is that like a rough draft?”

“Basically, yeah. They’re copies of the pages before everything goes to print. Your editors and designers have gone over everything but they like you to double check it all so there aren’t any mistakes.”

“I suppose I should get to work on that.”

“It’s mostly the recipes, I think. They want to make sure there aren’t any major mistakes like missing ingredients or instructions that call for two cups of salt.”

Bitty makes a face. “Right, I can probably do that in my sleep. It’s not like analyzing Shakespeare.”

“Or learning French vocabulary.”

“I have a feeling you’re chirping me, but I don’t know why I should be mad about that.”

“Ha ha. Don’t worry. You don’t know enough French to blame that one on memory loss.”

Bitty pulls his two books from the shelf and sets them on top of the box from his publisher, which he carries back to the kitchen. Maybe he’ll take a look at all of it later, start to get a feel for what he does. It’s kind of exciting, like waiting to open the biggest present on Christmas morning.

Less exciting is Jack’s announcement, after they’ve put Carter down for his afternoon nap and sampled the cinnamon rolls, that the specialist he contacted this morning has finally called him back and is interested in seeing Bitty tomorrow afternoon.

“I told him we’d be there. As long as that’s okay with you.”

“Guess the sooner we see him, the sooner we’ll get answers.”

“He’s a good doctor.” Jack sounds optimistic but looks worried. Bitty puts another cinnamon roll on his plate.

When Jack goes back to the articles on his computer, Bitty finally opens his box. He’s a little surprised to see the proofs are just unbound pages; photocopies, really. “Am I supposed to write on these?”

“I think you usually just make notes in places where things need to be changed. If you want to wait on that part and just read them for now —”

“Yeah?”

“Your editor knows you tend to leave things until the last minute. She probably sent them a week early expecting you won’t open them until the day before they’re really due.”

“Oh. I always figured I’d grow out of that.”

“Ha ha.”

Bitty decides he’ll ease into the task. He’ll just look at the recipe titles and pictures for now, get a general idea of what he’s dealing with here. A few pages in, he realizes something.

“Jack! Why on God’s green earth did I decide to write a _healthy_ cookbook?” Vaguely, he remembers seeing something about that on the mango sorbet Instagram post, but it hadn’t really registered. “Thai coffee ice pops? Pumpkin spice kettle corn? These aren’t even dessert; they’re farmers market snacks!”

“I said the same thing,” Jack says, taking a huge bite of his cinnamon roll.

“This was _not_ my idea.” He stabs a picture of “Dairy-free Chocolate Cream Pie” with his pen. “I would _never_.”

Jack’s shoulders are shaking. “Oh, but you _would,_ ” he says with a smirk. “There was a period of a few months, right before and after Carter was born, when we were relying on takeout a little too often because it was just easier. For some reason you decided the only way we were going to lose the ‘baby weight,’ as you called it, would be to write a healthy cookbook. I came home from a roadie and all the butter in the house was gone.”

“No!” Bitty gasps.

"Your mom didn’t speak to you for a week when you told her about the dairy-free chocolate cream pie. She told me I should divorce you.”

“Well, that does sound like her.”

“Do your work, Bits,” Jack says, a smile playing on his lips.

Bitty flops back in his chair and takes another look at his proofs. All told, it’s not bad. Sure, there are some questionable choices, like the “fruit pizza” featuring a coconut-and-almond flour crust, but others, like the fresh strawberry-basil sorbet, sound really good. There’s not enough pie, but since the last two books were _all_ pie, maybe his readers will appreciate something a little different.

“Is any of this making you remember anything?” Jack asks.

He looks so hopeful. Bitty wishes something would jump out at him and trigger even the smallest memory, but he truly doesn’t recognize any of these recipes, or the pictures, or the cute little anecdotes he wrote to go along with each recipe. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” It’s not okay, because Jack looks sad again.

Bitty and Jack decide they’re done for the day when they hear Carter fussing in his crib. Jack closes his laptop, Bitty marks his place and puts his papers back in the box, and they head upstairs together.

“Ha ha, definitely teething,” Jack says when they walk in to Carter chewing on his bear’s ear. “Oh, and it looks like he spit up a little,” he says, frowning at the wet spot on his shirt.

“Poor guy. At least he seems happier than he was last night.”

“Your mom says he’s a lot like you as a baby,” Jack says, lifting Carter out of the crib and setting him down on the changing table. “Always happy. Except, I guess, when he’s teething. I was a difficult baby. I had really bad colic.”

“He’s a really good baby.”

“Yeah, we like him. We’re probably going to keep him.” Bitty’s beginning to understand Jack’s deadpan delivery is his way of joking.

“So how did we … get him?” Bitty’s not really sure how all of this works with gay couples. Before all of … this … he’d always kind of assumed that he’d grow up and marry some girl his parents liked and have kids the normal way.

“We used a surrogate,” Jack says. “We waited a long time. We both wanted kids, but our careers were so busy the timing just wasn’t right. We decided a couple years ago, when I knew I was going to retire, that we should get started.”

“And Carter is … mine?” Bitty isn’t really sure what he’s asking. He knows, because he overheard the ladies in Mama’s book club talking about it once, that there are ways to make a baby without actually _making_ a baby, but he doesn’t really know how it works.

“Biologically, yeah —” Jack pulls Carter’s shirt over his head and tosses it in the laundry hamper. “Legally, he’s both of ours, obviously. We keep in touch with our surrogate but she’s not involved in raising him. She’s agreed to work with us again, next time, so our kids will be biological siblings even if we use my sperm.”

“It would be nice for him to have a sibling. It can get real lonely being the only one.”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees. “We’ll probably start down that road again this summer, after I retire.”

“Wow.”

“I’m sorry, is this — I keep forgetting how overwhelming this must be for you. You _look_ like you, but …”

“ _Jack_.” Bitty places his hand on Jack’s arm. “I’m glad you’re talking to me about all of this. This is my life. I might not remember it, but it wouldn’t do any good to pretend it never happened.”

“Just tell me if it gets to be too much.”

Their afternoon and evening proceed much the same way as yesterday; Bitty wonders if it’s typical of their routine when they’re both home. If it is, it’s pretty nice. After giving Carter some diced avocado and a teething biscuit for a snack, Jack nods at their running shoes lined up by the front door and raises his eyebrow. “What do you think about putting Carter in the jogging stroller and going for a family run?”

If Bitty were at Samwell, where he should be, he would have had morning checking practice followed by practice with the team later in the day. A run is the least he can do. “Daisy too?” he asks warily.

Jack laughs. “If you push the stroller, I’ll hold the leash.”

Five miles later, Bitty is ready to give up on running for good. The thing about being stuck in a body that’s 17 years older is that it’s 17 years older. And while it may be in decent shape for somebody who exercises regularly several times a week, it’s no match for a 18-year-old NCAA athlete’s body. It figures he’d lose his conditioning along with his memory.

At least Jack takes it in stride and graciously slows his pace so Bitty can keep up. “I used to be faster than you,” he complains.

Jack smirks. “Sorry you got old, bud.”

“You’re older than me!”

“Do you want to walk?”

Bitty refuses to stop now, and even forces himself to pick up the pace, to prove he can keep up with Jack. But he doesn’t miss the way Jack slows down to walk the last half mile home. “Side stitch,” he says.

“Yeah, sure.” Jack isn’t a great liar. But he is, Bitty thinks, a pretty great partner.

He proves that again, later, when they’re getting ready for bed. Bitty’s just finished brushing his teeth and washing his face with some sort of face wash in a fancy bottle that probably cost more than his weekly meal plan at school when he notices Jack’s on his way out the door with his pillow and an extra blanket. “I’ll sleep in the guest room,” he says.

 _What_? Bitty shakes his head dumbly. “No, Jack, you don’t have to — It’s your bed, I should be the one to sleep somewhere else. Or we can share, it’s big enough.”

Jack’s eyes are sad again. “I know you … _look_ like you, but as far as your memory is concerned, we’ve never … I just think we should probably sleep apart until you’re more comfortable being with me.”

He has a point, but Bitty is not going to kick the man out of his own bed. He was raised with manners, for goodness’ sake! “I don’t mind taking the guest room. I’m the one who doesn’t belong.”

Jack steps forward, as if to hug Bitty, but seems to check himself and just hugs the blanket and pillow to his chest instead. “Don’t say that. Of course you belong here. I’m fine in the guest room; it’s closer to Carter’s room, anyway. I’ll get up with him if he wakes up tonight.” He leaves the room before Bitty can object. When he returns, he’s holding something different.

“This is for you." He thrusts a shoe box-sized package at Bitty. It’s not gift wrapped but it’s pretty, sturdy and decorated with bright polka dots and tied with a satin ribbon.

“What is it?”

“Just open it.”

When Bitty lifts the lid, Señor Bunny is staring back at him. He’s a little cleaner and plumper than Bitty remembers, and he’s wearing a new Bun-sized Samwell hockey jersey, but he’s definitely _his_ Señor Bunny. Bitty picks him up and turns him over. On the back of his little jersey, “Bittle-Zimmermann” just barely fits over the number 16.

“It’s our numbers added together,” Jack explains, sounding almost shy. “When we found out about Carter, you sent him off to this lady who repairs and restores old dolls and stuffed animals. She fixed the hole in his ear and restuffed him. Your mom made the jersey. We put him away until Carter’s a little older. You wanted to give it to him for his first Christmas. But I thought you could use him more right now. So you aren’t alone.”

 _This boy_. Bitty hugs the bunny to his chest. He’s the first real, familiar thing he’s encountered from his old life. “Thank you, Jack.”

“I know he’s not quite the same. When we got him back you complained he doesn’t smell the same.”

Bitty smiles at that.

“He smelled kind of gross though, so it’s probably good.”

“You hush, Jack Zimmermann, Señor Bun is perfect.”

They stand there, both a little awkward, and Jack again looks like he wants to hug Bitty. Bitty would let him, but all Jack does is lightly touch his shoulder. “So, ah, I’ll just be down the hall, if you need anything. I think I’m going to stay up for a bit and watch tape from tonight’s games.”

Bitty hugs Señor Bun a little tighter. “You could — if you want to — watch it in here with me. Just until you’re ready to go to bed, you know?”

“Yeah?” Jack looks the happiest he’s been all day. If this makes Jack this happy, Bitty can do this for him.

“Yeah. Me and Bun talked about it; there’s plenty of room.”

“Well, if _Bun_ says it’s okay … I’ll just go get my iPad.”

Bitty’s mind feels a little calmer as he climbs into bed. He has Señor Bun and Jack is happy. Things are a little better tonight than they were this morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I was writing this chapter, I got a call from my child's school telling me he'd gotten hit in the head with a backpack and had a probable concussion. So life imitates fic, I guess. (He is fine; our pediatrician is treating it like a mild concussion but he was able to go back to school today.)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter briefly delves into medical issues. My personal knowledge of such topics is pretty slim, and I relied on some basic internet research and a few personal experiences as I was writing this. In other words, it's probably super sketchy and hella inaccurate. (But I think we're all here for boys in love anyway and not my probably-inaccurate depiction of medical conditions, right?)

Jack drives Bitty to his appointment, stopping first at his parents’ place to drop Carter off for the rest of the afternoon. Bob and Alicia Zimmermann, Bitty learns, purchased a second home just outside of Boston when Jack got traded to the Bruins. The kept the family home in Montreal and still travel quite a bit, but since Carter’s birth, Jack informs him, they’re been spending more and more time in Boston.

“It’s been nice,” he says. “Papa wasn’t around as much when I was a baby, and I don’t think he wanted to miss out this time around.”

They don’t tell the Zimmermanns why they need an emergency sitter in the middle of the week, or why Jack isn’t on a plane to California with the rest of his team; Jack simply mentions something came up.

Bob frowns and raises an eyebrow. Alicia looks worried. “Everything okay?” Bob asks.

Bitty’s perplexed at the concern until Jack reassures his parents. “I’m feeling good. It has nothing to do with my health.”

Alicia visibly relaxes. “You aren’t starting to talk about another —” she glances meaningfully at Carter.

Jack chuckles. “Not yet, Maman. But that’s still in the plan, right, Bits?”

He’s pretending to be normal. This is what Jack would say if everything _were_ going according to plan. It may still be in the plan, so Bitty plays his role as best as he can. “Just waiting for this one to retire,” he says, wrapping an arm around Jack’s waist. Jack leans into the affection the way a flower leans toward sunlight and pulls Bitty a little closer.

Jack’s parents laugh and agree that’s probably for the best. They promise to feed Carter dinner and even say they’ll keep him overnight, an offer Jack declines.

“We’ll be back before his bedtime,” he assures them.

Bob still looks uncertain. “If there _is_ something we should know about …”

“We’ll let you know as soon as we have more information,” Jack finishes.

It’s a conversation they’ve been putting off having with the people they're closest to. Jack doesn’t see the point of worrying their family and colleagues until they have some idea of what they might be dealing with. Bitty doesn’t know how to broach the topic. He imagines filming a video for his vlog: “ _Hey, y’all! Guess what! The last time I posted one of these, I was still getting used to college life at Samwell and learning how to deal with Jack, my way-too-intense hockey captain. Well, guess what! We got married! Several years ago, apparently, but I don’t remember any of that ‘cause I woke up on Sunday with no memory of the past 17 years. Isn't that hilarious? Now, today I’m gonna be making my famous cherry cobbler …”_

The specialist works out of a medical complex in downtown Boston, in a building that resembles a law firm more than a doctor’s office. That’s fine with Bitty, who has never much cared for doctors. At his last physical, right before he left for Samwell, Dr. Smith had looked him up and down, frowned, and proclaimed “you might still have a growth spurt, but I wouldn’t count on it.”

He’d ended the exam by reminding Bitty that if he was already sexually active, or planning to be in college, to practice safe sex and “use protection.” Bitty left the exam feeling grateful that Mama had allowed him to drive himself to the appointment. On the way home, he threw the pamphlets about STDs and different types of contraception in the dumpster behind McDonald’s so he wouldn’t have to bring them inside for his parents to find.

This is a very different type of visit. For one thing, he’s not sitting on an exam table wearing a paper robe. He’s also not talking about sex with the man who took his MooMaw to prom.

“So explain to me what’s going on,” Dr. Hill says from the other side of his large mahogany desk.

Bitty details, from the beginning, how he woke up on Sunday morning with no memory of how or why he was in a bed with Jack Zimmermann, or why the last thing he can remember before that is going to bed after a hockey game he played in 2013. “I don’t remember my life,” he says now. “I know it _happened_ , it’s just not —” he taps his head — “ _here_.” 

“He sustained a pretty serious concussion during a college hockey game,” Jack adds. “I’ve been wondering if that’s responsible for his memory loss.”

Dr. Hill looks at Bitty and Jack over his glasses and steeples his finger together on the desk in front of him. “I know you’re aware of some of the problems men and women in your profession have experienced as a result of head trauma. You’re right to be concerned; however, it would be very unusual for Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy, or CTE, to present in somebody who has only sustained only one major concussion. It’s more typical in those who have experienced repeated head trauma. Was this the only incident?”

“As far as I remember,” Bitty says, as Jack nods in agreement. “When I was younger,” he adds, “I was a figure skater. I took a couple of bad falls, but never hurt my head.”

“It would also be unusual,” the doctor adds, “for CTE to cause complete memory loss with no prior symptoms. Did you experience anything unusual leading up to this memory loss?”

Bitty looks to Jack again. “Nothing out of the ordinary,” Jack answers. “He was acting a little strange on Sunday morning, like he might be hungover or ill. Neither of us is a big drinker, but had wine with dinner on Saturday night. But later, when he explained he woke up unable to remember anything about not just the previous night, but the previous 17 years, I figured that was the reason he wasn’t acting like himself. Before that, everything was fine. He was acting like himself.”

“Do you have any other medical conditions that might be relevant? Stroke or seizures? Migraines?”

“We would know if I had a stroke or seizure, right?”

“Usually, yes, but some strokes aren’t accompanied by the typical symptoms. In any case, I don’t think it’s CTE we’re dealing with. I would, however, like to order an MRI to rule out a stroke and some other possibilities.”

Bitty looks from the doctor to Jack and back to the doctor. “And you think that’ll tell you what’s wrong with my memory?”

“It might,” Dr. Hill says. “It’s a very effective diagnostic tool for certain conditions and abnormalities. If we can’t find a physical reason for your symptoms, we may have to start looking at other causes. But let’s start by eliminating some possibilities.”

They leave Dr. Hill’s office with a referral for an MRI, which his assistant is able to schedule for later in the day. “We can get something to eat while we wait,” Jack suggests.

Bitty shrugs. He’s not sure his stomach can handle eating anything while he waits for an exam that may tell him he has a brain tumor, or a blood clot, or one of the other things Dr. Hill mentioned. But it doesn’t make sense to drive all the way home only to come back in an hour. They take the elevator down to the café on the first floor. Jack orders a turkey sandwich.

“I think I’ll pass for now,” Bitty says quietly. “Just an iced tea for me.”

“Make that two iced teas,” Jack says. “And can we get a second plate? In case you decide you want to share,” he tells Bitty after the cashier rings them up.

They claim a table for two in the corner. It would be almost romantic, Bitty thinks, if they weren’t in a medical building waiting to take pictures of his brain.

Jack must be thinking the same thing. “In any other situation, I’d jump at the chance to get you alone for a date in the middle of a work week. Not that I’m not happy to be here with you,” he quickly adds.

“I’m sorry you’re missing your games,” Bitty apologizes.

“I was getting tired of the flight to the West Coast anyway,” Jack says.

“Wow,” Bitty giggles, forgetting for a moment where they are and taking the time to marvel, yet again, at how time has changed Jack Zimmermann. “You really are ready to retire, aren’t you?”

“The only things I’ve ever wanted to do are play good hockey and have a good life with you,” Jack says. “For a long time, I’ve been able to do both. But my best hockey years are behind me. I figure _our_ best years are still to come.”

“Well,” Bitty says, “seeing as how I don’t remember any of our years together, I’d say our best years are definitely ahead of us.” He’s trying for humor but it comes out more bitter than intended. “I mean, I’m sure we’ve had some really good times and I hope someday I’ll be able to remember it all, but if I don’t …” If he doesn’t, he decides, he’ll lean into this life he’s been given.

“If you don’t,” Jack says, placing his hand over Bitty’s on the table, “we’ll make new memories.”

“We can start with this date,” Bitty says, struggling to keep his tone light. “Mr. Zimmermann, you’re gonna have to step up your game if you want to win my heart. This is technically my first date, you know. I know you can do better than soggy old sandwiches and bottled iced tea.”

“Bittle-Zimmermann,” Jack quietly corrects. “We kept our names for professional reasons, but legally we’re Bittle-Zimmermanns.”

“Bittle-Zimmermann.” Bitty nudges Jack’s foot with his own. The absurdity of his first date being in a medical center coffee shop makes him want to laugh. Or cry. In his fantasies, he’s always imagined a romantic dinner in a nice restaurant. Or even coffee at Annie’s, which at least has decent pastries. “What was our real first date like?” he asks.

Jack smiles softly, like it’s a really nice memory, and sets his sandwich down. “Well,” he says thoughtfully, “we went on a lot of almost-dates when we were still at Samwell together. But I guess the thing we both consider our first official date was the Fourth of July party in Madison.”

Bitty can feel his eyes go wide. Madison means…

“I kissed you for the first time after my graduation,” Jack continues, “and we hadn’t seen each other since then — we Skyped and texted every day, though. And then your parents invited me to spend the Fourth with you.”

“Fourth of July is a big deal in my family.”

“Yeah. We go back every year. We took Carter to see the fireworks for the first time a few months ago. He loved it, Bits —”

“So our first date?” Bitty interrupts.

“Right, so, they didn’t know I was your boyfriend. As far as they were concerned, I was just your best friend from Samwell. That’s how you introduced me to everyone. It wasn't a lie, we just didn't tell the whole truth.”

“We weren’t out,” Bitty says, the realization that there’s so much he just doesn’t know about his own life hitting him yet again.

“Not for about another year, no. That’s a different story. So we went to the big party with your family but afterward, as everyone was getting ready to go to the football field to watch the fireworks, you begged your dad to let us take the truck out to their neighbor’s field to watch them from there instead. We, uh, didn’t just watch the fireworks.”

“Jack Zimmermann, did I let you take advantage of me in the back of my daddy’s pickup truck? Lord, it sounds like a country song.”

“It was pretty tame, all things considered. Remember, it was the first time we’d been alone since our first kiss. And I was your first. We agreed to take things slow.”

“But there was kissing?”

Jack nods.

“And?” Now Bitty's curious. Lord, he must have been over the moon for Jack if he was willing to risk getting caught making out with him in Coach's truck.

“Honestly, that was about it. The best part was just being able to _be_ with you again after two months apart. I told you in my vows, that’s when I first knew I wanted us to be forever.”

“Oh. Wow.”

“I didn’t tell you right away. You would have thought I was crazy. Not that I was able to keep it to myself much longer than that. I said 'I love you' pretty early on. Before you were ready to hear it, maybe.” He smiles a little sheepishly. “It all worked out, obviously.”

In high school — which feels like a matter of months, not years, ago — Bitty used to look at other couples with envy, only able to imagine saying those words to somebody and hearing them spoken to him in return. He feels cheated, now, that he can’t even remember it.

“I’m so sorry I’ve forgotten all of these things that are so important to us. I can’t remember our first date, or getting the 'C,' or our wedding, or the birth of our son. I can’t even remember your favorite pie! How could I just forget those things?”

“Well …” Jack looks lost. “That’s what the doctors are going to figure out. You heard Dr. Hill; there are a lot of possibilities.”

“You seem pretty confident.”

“Just optimistic,” Jacks says quietly. He looks down at the half-eaten sandwich on his plate. “You sure you don’t want any of this sandwich?”

Bitty looks at the grayish-brown turkey and limp lettuce hanging out of two slices of soggy bread and raises an eyebrow. “Is it good?”

Jack laughs. “Not really.”

Bitty laughs too. “Some second first date this is.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Jack promises.

 

“Have you ever had an MRI before?” Jack asks as they ride the elevator up to Bitty’s next appointment.

“I had an x-ray once when I landed a jump wrong and twisted my ankle.”

“They’re going to put you in a tube-like machine, and it’ll be dark and noisy. I’ll ask if I can go in the room with you, if you want, but they’ll probably ask me to wait outside.”

“Small spaces …” Bitty suddenly feels cold. He hasn’t much cared for small, dark spaces since a bunch of football players thought it would be funny to shove him in a supply closet and leave him overnight. Sometimes, he still has nightmares about it. He swallows hard.

“I know,” Jack says reassuringly, placing a hand on the small of Bitty’s back and guiding him to the check-in desk.

And he does, doesn’t he? It feels like Jack knows everything about Bitty, even things he himself doesn’t know. It isn’t fair. None of this is fair.

“Thank you,” Bitty whispers as he signs in. Jack doesn't say anything, just keeps his steadying hand right there.

The actual procedure is uneventful. “You aren’t claustrophobic, are you?” the technician asks.

“I sometimes have a hard time with small spaces,” Bitty admits.

“I’ll be waiting right outside,” Jack reminds him.

Bitty nods. The sooner he does this, the sooner he’ll have some answers. Maybe. “Okay,” he says in his most enthusiastic voice. “Let’s do this.”

He keeps his eyes closed as they load him into the machine, and throughout the 30 minute exam. At first he thinks he might be able to go to sleep, but the machine is loud and the technician occasionally interrupts with instructions. Finally, he hears the machine power down.

“You did great,” the technician says. “We’ll get these images up to radiology. You can expect a call from the doctor within a day or so to discuss your results.”

He and Jack look at each other. For some reason, he hadn’t expected there would be more waiting after this. Apparently Jack hadn’t either. “Is there any way they can expedite it?” Jack asks.

The technician shakes her head. “Our radiologist has left for the day. She’ll be in first thing tomorrow, and once she’s read the results she’ll forward them to Dr. Hill. Tomorrow afternoon is the earliest I’d expect to hear anything.”

And that’s that. “I guess I thought we’d leave with some answers,” Bitty says as Jack pulls out of the parking garage.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Jack says hopefully.

 

The call comes the following afternoon. Bitty’s supposed to be on his conference call with his editor, but he rescheduled it and spent the morning and afternoon attempting to catch up on years of his own blog posts. Carter’s napping and Jack is lifting weights in their home gym. Bitty’s considering going down to join him when his phone lights up with Dr. Hill's number.

“The good news,” Dr. Hill begins, “is that your brain is perfect. There’s no evidence of tumor, stroke, trauma, or dementia. I feel comfortable ruling out CTE as well. That’s very very good news.”

The relief is immediate. Bitty was up late last night reading about brain tumors and dementia, and when he finally turned off his phone to go to sleep, his thoughts turned grim. He imagined wasting away from brain cancer, a shadow of his former self, eventually unable to remember his own name. He'd no doubt become a burden to Jack and the rest of their family, and die before the son he can’t remember is old enough to remember him. He must have eventually cried himself to sleep because when he woke up this morning, Señor Bun was pillowed under his cheek and there was a suspicious wet spot on his ear.

“The bad news,” Dr. Hill continues, “is that we still don’t have an explanation for your sudden memory loss. I’d like to schedule some appointments with a neuropsychologist as soon as possible. There are types of spontaneous amnesia that can manifest as a result of stress or trauma. I think it’s time to explore this as a possibility.”

Bitty takes down the name of the psychologist and thanks Dr. Hill, again, for his help.

Down in the basement gym, Bitty takes a moment to appreciate the sight that is Jack Zimmermann working out before he makes his presence known. He still feels a little embarrassed when he thinks about Jack’s body, and about _liking_ Jack’s body, like it’s still a forbidden thing he’s not allowed to have. Somehow, it’s a little easier when Jack is unaware. So he looks now, enjoying the way his tight black T-shirt accentuates his biceps and broad chest for just a moment before he clears his throat. “Just got a call from Dr. Hill,” he says when Jack looks in his direction. “The scans are clear.”

“Thank god,” Jack says, dropping his weight and giving Bitty a fist bump, which has become his go-to substitute for the more intimate types of affection Bitty thinks Jack prefers. “I was so worried.”

“You can still be worried,” Bitty says. “We still don’t have any answers. He wants me to see this psychiatrist. Or a psychologist? I can’t remember which.”

“You don’t have a tumor,” Jack points out. “You aren’t suffering from a brain condition that’s only going to get worse.”

“What if …” It sounds ridiculous, but Bitty hasn’t been able to shake the feeling that they’re on the wrong track. “What if it’s not in my head? What if there’s some other reason I can’t remember anything? It doesn’t feel like amnesia.”

“Do you know what amnesia feels like? What else would it feel like?”

There’s no way to say it without sounding absolutely ridiculous. “Magic? Time travel?”

Jack snorts. “Well, forgive me for thinking there’s a realistic basis for your memory loss. Obviously, it was magic all along.”

Bitty frowns. “You don’t have to be mean. I know it doesn’t make sense. I’m just saying, I think some part of me would remember all of this — or at least something about this — if I’d lived it. It’s not just being with you and having this life. My body is different. I don’t look the way I remember looking, and I sure don’t feel the way I remember feeling before all of this.”

“Let’s see what the doctor says,” Jack says gently, “before we go telling everyone you swapped bodies with your 18-year-old self.”

Bitty sits on the exercise bike and puts his head in his hands. Now Jack thinks he’s crazy. He doesn’t blame him. He’s starting to feel like he might be crazy, too.

“Hey.” Bitty looks up and Jack gives him an absolutely brilliant smile. “You’re not dying. That’s something.”

“I’m not dying,” Bitty repeats, and he almost feels like laughing. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”


	7. Chapter 7

When Jack goes back to work on Monday, Bitty’s ready. It won’t be too bad, he thinks, because the Bruins are at home this week and won’t travel again until after Thanksgiving. Jack only has two games this week, so he’ll be home most evenings. They can ease into this new normal.

Bitty finds ways to stay busy. Carter, obviously, is his biggest responsibility. With Jack’s help, he’s settled on a morning routine. When Carter naps, Bitty continues to mine his books and blog for clues to his own life. He finds notes he’s made about their plans to host Thanksgiving dinner for his parents and the Zimmermanns, and spends time researching recipes and outlining a menu. On Tuesday he hops on a conference call with Julia and his publicist to discuss their plan to promote his new book in advance of its publication.

“I’m sorry I had to cancel last week’s meeting,” he tells them. “I was a little under the weather.” That’s what he and Jack have been telling everyone. If anybody suspects anything more serious, they’ve kept it to themselves.

“No problem, Eric,” Julia says. “I’m glad you’re feeling better now. I’ve got Hannah and our PR intern, Peter, on the call with me. As I mentioned in my last text to you, PR has some concerns that the new book won’t be as popular with your fans. I was hoping we could begin to put together a plan to build enthusiasm in your core audience.”

Thanks to the research he’s been doing on his own life — and Jack’s help — he’s prepared for this conversation. “I know people are expecting the usual,” he begins, reading from his notes. “Pie has a special place in my heart, and always will. But the other recipes I share on my blog are just as popular, in terms of views and shares. Casual cookbook readers may be expecting pie, but I don’t think my regular blog readers will be surprised. They’re the repeat visitors who come back for my stories and pictures of our family life, and they understand why the birth of my son inspired these new recipes.”

“Eric, are you already promoting the new book on the blog and social media?” Hannah asks.

“I sure am. I wrote a bit about the concept for the new book on my blog, and I’ve been posting sneak peeks and recipes on Instagram with links back to the blog once a month or so.”

“Great. That’s perfect. What do you think about stepping that up to twice a month for the next few months, then stepping that up to once a week in the month before the book drops?”

“Well, I don’t wanna give everything away because we _do_ want people to buy the book,” Bitty says with a little laugh. “But I’m happy to keep posting my behind the scenes stories. People really seem to like it when Jack is in the pictures and stories.”

“Would he be willing to do some PR with you?” Peter, the intern, asks.

“Well, I don’t know, I’d have to ask.”

“Eric and his husband have always kept their professional lives separate,” Hannah says. “But if you think he’d be willing to help out, Eric, that would be a great angle. We might get some crossover interest from his fans. I know you said, before, that you developed the protein cookies with Jack in mind.”

“What type of involvement are you thinking he might have?” Bitty asks.

“Maybe something like a guest post on your blog,” Peter suggests. “Or even a video of the two of you cooking together.”

“Oh, I like that,” Hannah says. “He used to make occasional appearances on your old vlog, didn’t he? That would be a great throwback.”

Bitty smiles. He actually found his old vlog the other day, and spent most of Carter’s nap catching up on the all the videos he’d recorded _after_ that Yale game. Even before he and Jack started dating, he was surprised to discover, he talked about him all the time. He could almost see, in real time, his feelings toward Jack softening and then becoming, well, _more_. There was a brief hiatus around the time he and Jack publicly came out, and when he resumed production Jack became a regular, though infrequent, guest.

“As it turns out, I’ve been taking a trip down memory lane with those videos myself. I can’t promise anything, but I think Jack might be willing to help out.”

“We’d also like you to think about guest appearances on other shows and blogs,” Hannah says. “I know your show is on hiatus and you’ve been declining appearances until Jack retires next summer, but one or two between now and then, especially on the mainstream morning and daytime talk shows, will help you stay visible and build hype.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Bitty says, a little cautious. He’s watched a few episodes of his show, but he doesn’t know if he’s ready to fake being comfortable in a production studio. “Maybe after the new year?”

“I’ll make a note to come back to that later then,” Hannah says. “Do either of you have anything you’d like to add?”

“I need those proofs!” Julia reminds Bitty. “Also, sales still isn’t sure about the cover. We’ve got design working up a couple more options. I’ll get those to you later this week.”

“Thanks, Julia. I’ll look forward to it.”

Bitty ends the call and gives a silent fist pump. He did it. “One thing at a time,” he tells himself. If he sticks to one thing at a time, he might just figure this whole career thing out.

 

Bob and Alicia bring a pizza over to watch Jack’s game on Wednesday. “Thought you could use the break,” Bob says, setting the box on the kitchen counter and pulling plates out of the cupboard. 

“Thank you.” It’s become clear that the Bittle-Zimmermann household runs as efficiently as it does only because Jack’s parents are around to help pick up the slack. Already this week, they’ve taken Carter to the zoo so Bitty could “work” (he was actually reading his own blog and social media posts) and stayed with him during Bitty’s first appointment with the neuropsychologist.

That was … Well, the neuropsychologist — she asked Bitty and Jack to call her Helen — is just as perplexed as Dr. Hill. “It’s true that extreme stress or trauma can cause temporary amnesia — a break with reality, so to speak. But those episodes typically last a few hours to a day not — you said it’s been a week?”

Bitty nodded. “Since last Sunday. As much as I want to, I just can’t remember anything after that hockey game.”

Helen looked him in the eye. “I’d like to continue seeing you. I know you already see a therapist regularly. I’d like to consult with her to get a little more of your history. Maybe together, we can uncover a basis for your amnesia.”

Bitty’s supposed to go in twice a week, now, to talk to Helen. He’s not sure what they’re going to talk about, since he can’t remember anything leading up to his “break,” as she’s been calling it. Jack’s offered to go in with him, when he can, to fill in any blanks. But Bitty already feels bad for making him miss so much work already; he doesn’t want to be responsible for more missed games. Even if he is, as he keeps reminding Bitty, retiring. “You should have a strong final season,” Bitty told him after that initial appointment.”

“I want to help you,” Jack insisted.

“Help me by going out there and winning a game for me and Carter.”

Jack must have taken those words to heart, because he’s been on fire tonight. Two goals in the first period, and when he scores again in the third Bob leaps to his feet and whistles shrilly, startling a dozing Daisy.

“That’s my boy!” Alicia yells.

Bob lifts Carter into the air in a mock celly as one of the commentators notes that “This is how you come back from personal leave. Though nobody would expect anything less from Zimmermann, would they?”

Bitty, for his part, is simply mesmerized by the sight of Jack on the ice. It’s only been a little more than a week since he last saw Jack play, but he still has that same Jack Zimmermann intensity that still kind of scares him. He plays with a maturity and certainty he didn’t have at Samwell, the result of a lifetime of devotion to the sport. It almost takes Bitty’s breath away.

The Bruins win, 4 to 1, and when Jack gets home, he’s still riding high. He drops his bag in the doorway, hooks an arm around Bitty’s waist, and kisses him deeply before either of them realizes what’s happened.

Bitty immediately tenses in Jack’s embrace. They lock eyes in the split second before Jack releases him and somehow, Bitty senses his thoughts: _Be normal for them_. He relaxes a little and pulls away. “I bet you’re hungry after that win. There’s some leftover pizza in the kitchen. Hope you like sausage and green peppers; your dad ate the last of the pepperoni.”

“ _Papa_ ,” Jack says with a laugh. “How could you?”

“I’m sure his doctor is saying the same thing,” Alicia admonishes. “His last cholesterol reading was on the high side.”

“Sounds like we need to get Bad Bob in on my videos,” Bitty says, surprising himself with how easily the idea comes to him. “I’m sure I’ve got a few low-cholesterol treats we can talk about.”

“That’s a great idea, Bits,” Jack says with a smile. Together, they tell Bob and Alicia about his publisher’s plans to use Jack in some promotional videos. “It’ll be like coming full circle,” Jack says. He’s really been more enthusiastic about this whole thing than Bitty expected. “I did some of those vlogs with Bits back at the beginning of my career.”

“You may need to take some acting lessons from your mother,” Bob chirps. “As I recall, you came off kind of stiff and robotic in those old videos.”

“But they were so sweet,” Alicia says affectionately. “He couldn’t take his eyes off Eric in that first one and he handed him the baking soda instead of the sugar. Don't you remember?” Everyone laughs and Bitty makes a mental note to look that one up.

Jack eats his pizza cold while Bitty catches him up on his day. “I put Carter down after the first period. I don’t think he recognized you, but he sure did like watching y’all skate.”

“Maybe you can bring him to a game soon,” Jack says. “Some of the wives and partners have been asking about you guys.”

“That would be fun,” Bitty agrees.

 

The Bruins lose on Friday night. Bitty’s expecting Jack to be moody — or at the very least, quiet — when he gets home. But he’s smiling when he walks in the door, grocery bags hanging off of his arms. “Have you eaten?” he asks, setting the bags down in the kitchen.

“I could eat,” Bitty says. It’s a little late, but all he had earlier was some of the leftover pasta he reheated for Carter.

“Good,” Jack says. “I’d like to make dinner.”

Bitty raises an eyebrow. “Do we usually do this, or is this some special occasion I’m supposed to know about?”

“Sometimes we eat together, if it’s not too late and you don’t have to film in the morning,” Jack says. “Tonight is just because.”

“Oh. Need any help?”

“I’d kind of like it to be a surprise.”

“Well, I’m sure not going to complain about a handsome man in my kitchen, cooking for me.”

He doesn’t miss the way Jack blushes, just a little. “ _Your_ kitchen, eh?”

“Starting to feel like it.”

He can tell Jack’s pleased by the way he hums in response. “This shouldn’t take long,” he says. “Maybe you can take Daisy out for a walk?”

Last week, Bitty relied on Jack to take the lead when it came to their shared responsibilities. Now, with Jack gone for most of the day and evening, he’s had to step it up and get used to doing everything on his own — even the tasks he was more than happy to let Jack handle, like bathing Carter and walking Daisy. He’s as proud of his successes there as he is of this week’s professional wins.

Anyway, walking Daisy isn’t that bad. She’s used to the leash and well behaved, even when Jack isn’t around. He pokes his head into the kitchen on their way out. Jack’s got old country music playing and is humming softly as he prepares … something. “Sounds like my MooMaw’s house,” he says, taking a step inside. “Kinda smells like it too.”

“Keep walking,” Jack says, not looking up from whatever he’s doing. “It’s a surprise.”

“You know, you don’t have to go to so much trouble. Just about everything in my life is a surprise these days.”

“I think you’ll like this one. Give me a half hour.”

It’s late and dark but their neighborhood is safe. Thanks to his daily walks with Carter in the stroller, he’s gotten better at navigating and no longer worries about getting lost. He can even imagine working his way up to jogging with Daisy the way Jack does. With some headphones and good music, it could even be fun.

Jack meets them at the door when they return. He’s wearing cargo shorts, a faded SMH t-shirt, and a blue baseball cap. Bitty, in his winter coat and hat, shivers involuntarily. “Lord, you’re a sight. You’re gonna freeze in those clothes,” he says, handing the leash to Jack so he can take off his gloves and hang his coat on the hook by the door.

“I didn’t really take the weather into account,” Jack says by way of greeting. “Go upstairs and change; your clothes are on the bed.”

Bitty narrows his eyes. “What is this, some sort of theme dinner?”

“Kind of.”

Upstairs, Bitty finds an equally faded Falconers shirt and khaki shorts waiting for him. “Lord, is this even gonna fit?” he mutters, eyeing the shirt. It does fit, barely. It’s a little tight through the chest and shoulders. That might have been Jack’s plan, he thinks, when he sees the way Jack’s eyes linger on his upper body when he comes downstairs.

“Ready to eat?” Jack asks.

“Ready for … something.”

“Food’s in the kitchen.”

Bitty isn’t sure what he’s expecting, but it sure isn’t hot dogs, potato salad, and baked beans. “Fancy,” he says, still a little confused. “You have a craving for cookout food?”

Jack hands Bitty a paper plate. “You were right about that coffee shop not being a very good first date. I can do better than that.”

Bitty looks around the kitchen, sees for the first time the pitcher of tea on the table and two tiny American flags sticking out of a vase filled with red roses. “This is our first date.”

“A little more private than the real thing. And the potato salad is from the store; I didn’t have time to make MooMaw’s. But yeah.” Jack looks pleased with himself.

“You are too much,” Bitty says as he begins to fill his plate. “Is that real sweet tea?”

“That one _is_ MooMaw’s recipe,” Jack confirms. “I learned that one pretty early on. Once, you even told me you like it better.”

“Nothing is better than MooMaw’s sweet tea,” Bitty says, tentatively taking a sip. “Ohhhh, but this _is_ close.” He closes his eyes and savors the sweet liquid. He hasn’t had sweet tea since he got to Samwell. Ransom and Holster tried in the dining hall, once, and he’d had to explain that you can’t just pour table sugar in iced tea and call it sweet.

“On our real first date,” Jack says, taking a seat on the same side of the table as Bitty, “every time somebody asked me if I had a girlfriend, you kicked me under the table.”

“Tell me more,” Bitty says, pouring himself a glass of tea.

“Your cousin Samantha brought one of her friends to the party, and Aunt Judy kept trying to set us up on a double date. I told everyone I didn’t have time for a relationship since I was still getting used to my NHL schedule.

“Meanwhile …”

“Meanwhile —” Jack smirks — “we were having Skype sex three times a week and I was buying kitchen appliances with you in mind.”

Bitty nearly chokes on his hot dog.

“Sorry,” Jack apologizes. “Is that … okay?”

Bitty considers the query. He’s still coming to terms with everything about his sexuality, really. Even though he knows he’s married to Jack, and he’s becoming more comfortable with him by the day, he’s still a little uncomfortable when it comes to intimacy. Or talking about intimacy.

“What else did we do?” he asks, bypassing the question for now.

“I got roped into playing football with a bunch of the guys. Judy cornered me to tell me her side of the jam feud. MooMaw kept winking at me; I think she suspected about us even though we were being careful.”

“I have a feeling MooMaw always suspected about me,” Bitty says.

As they eat, Jack tells Bitty more stories about that first Fourth of July. “Your mom bought this air mattress that was so uncomfortable, but it was bigger than your bed, so of course that’s where we slept. She was so mad when we broke it. Your dad told her it must have been because she bought the cheap one at the tractor supply store. I think that may actually have been when he first suspected about us.”

Bitty’s can barely speak through his laughter. “I must’ve been so gone on you to sleep on a cheap air mattress when my nice bed was right there.”

“You do like your creature comforts,” Jack says with a chuckle.

When they finish eating, Jack tells Bitty to leave the dishes. “Date’s not over yet. Did you think I forgot about the fireworks?” He leads Bitty outside, where their SUV is parked in the driveway.

Bitty’s bare arms are covered in goosebumps within seconds. “Lord, it’s cold. We gonna be out here long?”

“There are blankets in the back.” Jack opens the hatch to reveal a pile of blankets and a couple of beers. “Hop in.”

When they’re both in the back of the SUV, Jack pulls Bitty close and wraps a blanket around them. “Comfy?”

“Mostly confused.”

“Hang on.” Jack shifts away from Bitty and pulls his phone out of his pocket. Bitty can’t really see what he’s doing, but then he settles back again and pulls Bitty into his side. “Ready?”

“Sure.”

Jack taps at his phone a few times until a video screen appears. “Okay. You want to press play or do you want me to do it?”

Bitty tentatively reaches out a finger and taps the ‘play’ icon.

At first it’s nothing, just a dark screen. Then, as a big band version of “You’re a Grand Ol’ Flag” begins to play, bright fireworks appear on the screen. Jack lifts the phone above their heads and they gaze up at it.

“I recorded it last Fourth of July,” Jack whispers. “I know it’s not exactly the same but …”

“Shh. It’s perfect,” Bitty whispers back.

And it is.

It’s cold outside, but Bitty only feels the warmth of Jack’s body heat and the blanket around them as they watch Jack’s shaky recording. It feels magical. It _is_ magical. It’s somehow better than the best first date Bitty could ever imagine. Jack must be exhausted, yet he’s giving more of himself tonight so Bitty can have a little bit of _them_.

After the show, Jack finds a playlist and plays it through the car’s sound system as they drink their beers and share stories. The songs all seem to be important to them. Bitty recognizes some of his favorite pop ballads but he also picks out Jack’s music — Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline, Tom Petty, Bruce Springsteen. Jack’s taste in music is so _him_.

“Is this the Dixie Chicks?” Bitty asks as Beyoncé segues into something with a little more twang. “My mama used to play this one all the time.”

“I know. I took her to their concert. You didn’t want to go.”

Bitty giggles. “Who knew you and Mama would bond over the Dixie Chicks. You gonna become a cowboy when hockey’s over?”

“Maybe,” Jack murmurs into Bitty’s hair.

“Mmm. Promise to wear those jeans that you wore on Saturday all the time and I can’t say I’d mind.” It slips out before Bitty realizes it. The beer must have lowered his inhibitions just enough.

Just enough that when Jack pulls him closer he doesn’t pull away. Just enough that when Jack kisses the back of his neck, he lets him. Just enough that he realizes he might actually be falling in love with Jack Zimmermann. Again, or for the first time? He’s not sure. He just knows it feels right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next update may not come as quickly as these recent updates, as I really need to work on editing my Check, Please Big Bang fic. I hope the little bit of sweetness here makes up for any delay.


	8. Chapter 8

“There are some things you should know about your relationship with your parents,”Jack says on the way to the airport to pick up the Bittles for Thanksgiving. “I’m not sure how things were when you first started at Samwell, but things were a little bit rough after you came out to them.”

Bitty’s heart sinks. This is exactly why he’d been so afraid to admit, even to himself, that’s he’s gay. “They didn’t take it well?”

“More like … there were a lot of hurt feelings and assumptions. There was miscommunication on both sides. I don’t know if you know this about yourself, but you tend to bottle up your feelings when you’re feeling bad.” Jack chuckles to himself. “It makes it difficult to fight with you because I know when you’re upset but you don’t give me anything to work with. It’s one of the things we talk about in therapy.”

This isn’t the first time Jack has mentioned going to therapy together. “Jack, are we … we’re okay, right?”

Jack doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but he does reach over and give Bitty’s knee a little squeeze. “We’re great. But, we both have a lot of issues we’ve had to work on. We each see our individual therapists and sometimes we do go together to talk about things that affect both of us. We’ve both had to unlearn a lot of bad habits we internalized growing up. And one of those, in your case, is that everyone in your family has a tendency to ignore problems.”

“Unless it’s jam,” Bitty says, remembering the four-part saga on his blog.

“Pretty sure the jam is a metaphor for some other thing your mom and Aunt Judy aren’t talking about.”

“But my parents and I, we’re good now?”

“It took some time, but you worked on it. You’re good. They love us, and they love Carter. In about 15 minutes, you’ll see exactly how much.”

The car is silent, save for Carter’s happy babbling in the back seat, as Jack concentrates on maneuvering through the holiday traffic.

Bitty has spent the entire week preparing for his parents’ visit, and the talk he knows he has to have with them. His sessions with Helen have been going well but, as of yet, haven’t yielded any new revelations. He’s starting to worry he’s stuck like this.

If he’s stuck like this, it’s not so bad, really. Sure, it really sucks that he can’t remember half of his life, but he has to admit, his past self made some good choices. He chose Jack, after all, and the life they’ve made together. His career, too, is more fantastic than even he could have dreamed at 18, but it suits him. No, he can’t remember making those choices, but he approves of them. Would it really be so bad to keep living like this?

If he does have to live like this forever, if he’s never able to recover those missing 17 years, they have to tell their family and friends sooner rather than later.

“What if they don’t take it well?” Bitty frets as Jack pulls into short-term parking.

“Bits, these are your parents we’re talking about. They’ll be concerned and maybe a little confused, but the most likely scenario is that your dad will slap you on the back and ask if you want to watch the game and your mom will go bake something. You’re an adult. They won’t make you move back home just because the last thing you remember is being in college.”

It sounds silly when Jack voices it, but that’s exactly what Bitty’s been worrying about all afternoon.

“Seriously,” Jack adds, lifting Carter out of his seat. “It will probably be weird, but they’ll get over it.”

They beat Bitty’s parents to baggage claim and pass the time by holding Carter’s hands and helping him practice walking the length of the baggage carousel. Bitty spent most of yesterday morning walking him up and down the hallway, helping him practice the new skill. He’s so close to walking on his own, but hasn’t been brave enough to take that first step without the steadying support of either of his fathers.

“I think it’ll be any day now,” Bitty says as he walks Carter from one end of the baggage carousel to where Jack is waiting on the other end. “Maybe with both sets of grandparents visiting, he’ll decide it’s time to show off.”

“Ha ha. Maybe. As long as everyone’s here, we should get him in skates.”

Bitty narrows his eyes. “I don’t care how much your father begs, we are not putting an infant in skates.” He hands Carter off to Jack. “How old were you when you got your first pair?”

He sure it’s a conversation they’ve had, but Jack humors him. “I was two, and that’s because the pair that someone had custom made for me when I was born finally fit me. There’s a picture in my parents’ house.”

Bitty tries to imagine a tiny Jack Zimmermann, all bundled up in winter clothing, gripping his father’s hand and tentatively lurching across the ice. The idea makes him smile.

“I was five,” Bitty says. “Well, that was the first time I went skating, anyway. My friend Eliza had her birthday party at the local skating rink. I was so cold, and I kept falling, but there were older kids twirling and landing jumps and I remember thinking it must be like flying. I wanted to learn to do that. I begged Mama and Coach to let me have lessons and they finally told me I could. After that, skating was my life.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way for him,” Jack says. “We’ve talked about it before. If he wants to play hockey, or figure skate, that’s great, but if he doesn’t, that’s great, too.”

“Maybe he’ll take up curling,” Bitty says, only because he suspects it will make Jack smile

“Or crocheting.”

“Dog grooming.”

“Graffiti artist.”

“Fishing?”

“I like fishing.”

“I kind of hate it.”

“I know.”

Bitty and Jack smile at each other over Carter and Bitty’s stomach flips in a not-entirely-unpleasant way. It’s been doing that a lot lately. Is it possible to have a crush on your husband for the first time, even if you’ve been together for more than a decade? If so, Bitty thinks he might have a crush on Jack.

The spell is broken when the passengers from the Atlanta flight begin to file in. Jack hurriedly scoops Carter up off the floor so he doesn’t get trampled and they move off to the side to wait for Bitty’s parents.

They hear them before they see them, Mama’s cry of “There’s my sweet baby!” ringing throughout baggage claim. Coach just smiles a little shyly, like he’s a little embarrassed by how loud his wife is but what can he do about it, really? In their heavy winter coats and hats, they look like they’re heading out on a polar expedition.

“Good to see you, Junior.” Coach pats Bitty on the back as Mama practically mauls Jack to get at Carter.

“Good to see you too, Daddy. Mama.”

“ _Dicky_.” With Carter secure in her arms, Mama turns toward Bitty and he has to choke back a gasp of surprise. It’s not that he wasn’t expecting it but, well, Mama is _old_. Or, older. Coach too, he realizes, glancing at his father. Old in a way they shouldn’t be considering he last saw Mama a few weeks ago. Except, it wasn’t just a few weeks ago, was it?

The last time Bitty saw his parents — can remember seeing them — they seemed old only in the way every teenager thinks of their parents as old. Now, after several weeks in his own middle-aged body, he realizes how young they really were. He notices the deeper lines around Mama’s eyes, and how Coach’s hair is nearly all gray. They are, he realizes, in their sixties now.

But, they’re still his parents and when Mama pulls him in and hugs him way too tight, he doesn’t protest even as Carter squeals. “Suzie, you’re squishing the baby,” Coach says fondly.

Bitty pulls away as Jack takes a picture of the reunion. Coach is already hauling their luggage off of the conveyor.

“How long are you planning on staying again?” Jack chirps, eyeing the two large suitcases.

“You hush,” Mama scolds him. “If the two of you are going to insist on living in the frozen tundra, I’m going to bring sweaters and boots so I don’t freeze to death. All that gear takes up a lot of space.”

“Mama, there isn’t even snow on the ground.”

“If you think those suitcase aren’t also full of things for the baby, you don’t know your mother very well,” Coach says with a chuckle.

“They're full of jam too, probably,” Jack adds.

Bitty rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine. Let’s get on home so I can get those pies started.”

One of the best things about being a grown up with money, Bitty has realized this past week, is being able to plan Thanksgiving dinner the way he wants it. He picked up their heirloom turkey, ordered months ago from a nearby family farm, earlier in the week. The apples for the pies came from another nearby farm. And he was more than happy to find a recipe for green bean casserole that called for fresh green beans and a homemade sauce — there will be no cans in his kitchen. Stuffing, two kinds of potatoes, and a cranberry salsa round out the menu.

“Real pies?” Mama asks, probably thinking about the upcoming book.

“Real pies, Mama,” Bitty reassures her. “I did two pumpkin pies last night but wanted to wait on the apple.”

Later, after they’ve eaten the chili Bitty had going in the slow cooker, Bitty decides it’s time. He darts a quick look at Jack, who gives his knee a little squeeze.

“Mama, Coach,” Bitty begins, “there’s something we need to tell you —”

“Are you having another baby?” Mama interrupts.

“What? No. Why does everyone think that?” Bitty asks.

“It’s normal,” Coach says. “People didn’t stop asking us when we were having another until you were in college.”

Bitty sits back, momentarily distracted by this weird new revelation. “Really? That’s so —”

“ _Bits_.”

Ugh. He’s really going to have to do this, isn’t he? “Mama, Coach,” he begins again, “I know I haven’t called you as often as usual these past couple of weeks.”

“You’ve been real busy, honey. Your daddy and I understand.”

“Right. I have been busy. But, it’s not just being busy that’s kept me from calling. I’ve been having some problems with my memory these past few weeks.”

“Memory problems?” Mama looks worried. Maybe this was not the best way to approach this.

“A big part of my life is just gone,” Bitty says. “I kind of feel like I’m in a movie where I went to bed one night as a college student and woke up … here.”

“Like in _Big_?” Coach asks.

“Yes!” Bitty says, hopeful he won’t actually have to explain more of this weird situation. He’ll just let his parents think he has a made-up movie affliction.

Jack frowns. “The psychologist he’s seeing actually thinks it’s some sort of dissociative break,” he clarifies.

“What does that mean?” Mama asks.

“It means that due to stress or illness or — _something_ — I have this sort of temporary amnesia. It started when Jack and I went away earlier this month. I woke up one morning and the last thing I was able to remember was going to bed one night during my freshman year at Samwell.”

Bitty watches Mama’s eyes grow wide and fill with tears.

“You know, some of my boys have had problems with memory loss over the years, Junior —”

“We saw a specialist,” Jack quickly interrupts, “and he ran some tests to make sure it’s _not_ CTE, or another brain issue. That’s why he’s seeing a psychologist now. She thinks it’s psychological in nature.”

“But what does that _mean_?” Mama asks again.

“Well …” Bitty twists his hands together in his lap. “It means that, right now, I need a little bit of help doing a lot of things that should come easily to me because I don’t remember anything about the past 17 years. I don’t remember my career, or my life here with Jack and Carter, or anything that's happened after the first couple months of my freshman year at Samwell, basically. But Jack’s been helping me, and I’ve been getting used to doing the things I need to do. Hopefully, something will click and my memories will come back soon.”

Bitty can tell his parents are still confused by the way Coach starts to speak, only to interrupt himself and shake his head. Mama’s more blunt: “Did something happen to upset you enough to cause this … _break_?” She’s addressing Bitty but looking at Jack.

“I was with him all weekend. It was a pretty typical trip. If something upset him earlier in the week, when I was away, he didn’t mention it.”

“But he _was_ under a lot of stress,” Mama points out. “I talked to him the day before your trip and he mentioned having a bunch of book deadlines coming up. And he said he hadn’t been sleeping well, either. You were out of town, you wouldn’t know.”

“Right, but that’s just what he does,” Jack says. “He puts things off until his deadline and gets worked up about finishing on time. We all know this. I know it’s been a lot, with the baby and my schedule, but none of us were worried it was too much. And I may have been out of town, but I _would_ know, because we talk every night when I’m on the road. I can tell when something is bothering him.”

“I’ve seen movies about this,” Mama says. “When a person has a psychotic break and just goes crazy —”

“Suzanne.” Jack sounds amazingly calm. “The psychologist was very careful not to use that term. She doesn’t think Bitty is a danger to himself or others. He hasn’t tried to run away or hurt me or Carter. He hasn’t tried to hurt himself —”

“And you’ve been leaving him every day to care for a baby he doesn’t even know how to care for! You should have called us right away; you know I would have been on the next plane to help out.”

“We wanted to rule out some of the more serious possibilities before worrying everyone,” Jack says, voice still steady and patient. “We didn’t want to worry anybody unnecessarily. I took a week off and would have taken more, but Bits insisted I go back. We haven't told my parents anything yet, but they've been helping out as much as usual. Bitty isn't dealing with this alone.”

All this talking _about_ him, and nobody is talking _to_ him. Bitty rises from his chair. “Look,” he tells his parents, “I may not be the person you remember, but this is who I am right now. And we don’t know when it’s going to get better. So can we please just have a nice holiday? You don’t have to treat me any different, just give me a little time if I don’t know how to do something right away. I know it’s weird, but if Jack can live with me like this all the time, you can do it for a few days.”

His outburst has silenced Jack and his mother, at least. They remain locked in a face off across the table, but at least neither is talking.

“Anyway, who wants pie and coffee?” Bitty will just smile and feed everybody until they forget why they’re upset. That’s perfectly reasonable, right?

“I’ll help,” Coach says. It is, frankly, the most surprising thing anybody at this table has said all night. Bitty can’t remember the last time his father offered to help him in the kitchen. He looks to Jack.

“Suzanne, do you want to help me put Carter to bed while they get dessert?”

“Of course, honey.” Bitty watches, a little dumbfounded, as Jack and Mama take the baby upstairs, their argument apparently forgotten. He can hear them whispering to each other but can’t quite get the gist of their conversation.

“You’ve been full of surprises your entire life,” Coach says as he measures coffee grounds into the French press, “but this one takes the cake.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Bitty says in a small voice. “It’s not my fault.”

“I know it ain’t.” Coach puts a big hand on Bitty’s shoulder. “But you know your mother worries about you. Always has. Give her a little time. It’s a lot to take in.”

Bitty concentrates on making even slices in his pumpkin pie.

“Jack worries too,” Coach adds. “Now you know — or maybe you don’t, I suppose — we love that boy like he’s our own. But this wouldn’t be the first time he and your mother have butted heads over you. She still hasn’t completely forgiven him for keeping you here, even though I told her when you got that scholarship to that school up here that you were never coming back to Georgia.”

“I don’t know if you can blame Jack for keeping me here,” Bitty says. “I’m sure I had some say in where we live.”

Coach carefully adds boiling water to the French press and sets the timer on his phone. When, Bitty wonders, did his father learn to make coffee like this? For as long as Bitty can remember, Mama has been the one to measure out the coffee and set their old Cuisinart coffee maker to brew directly into Coach’s travel mug each morning.

“I know, and you know, and Jack knows, that he turned down that offer to play in Nashville because you wanted to stay up here. But your mother doesn’t know, and that boy of yours has always let her think it was his decision because it would break her heart to know it was your choice. Sometimes you have to tell half truths to keep the peace with your mother.” Coach chuckles. “Kind of like how none of us will tell her we all prefer Judy’s jam.”

Bitty turns this new information over in his head as he slides the slices of pie onto harvest-themed dessert plates. Jack was going to be traded to Nashville before the Bruins? And from the way Coach is making it sound, he would have done it if Bitty had agreed.

“Jack did that for me?”

“Jack’s a simple guy. When you’re happy, he’s happy. He’d move to the moon if you said the word.”

Bitty’s still thinking about that as he and Jack lie on far opposite sides of their bed that night. With Coach and Mama in the guest room, Jack has — temporarily — moved back into their bedroom.

“That went … okay,” Jack says through a yawn as he closes his iPad. “Are you feeling okay about it? Ready to do it again tomorrow with my parents?”

Bitty groans. “Not really. I guess I should have expected Mama would be upset, but I’m sorry she took it out on you. I know it’s not your fault.”

“Eh.” Jack shrugs. “It’s a lot.”

Bitty stretches his leg out a little and pokes Jack’s calf with his toe. “Coach was saying you almost went to Nashville instead of Boston. You didn’t tell me that.”

“Didn’t think it was important. It’s in the past.”

“ _My_ past. That I can’t remember.” Bitty sighs. “Did you want to go to Nashville?”

Jack shifts to his side so he’s facing Bitty. “They offered me a better deal. I thought it would be nice to be a little closer to your family. Between Papa’s career and then the Q and Samwell and my career, I haven’t spent very much time in one place. The idea of moving again didn’t really bother me. I thought it would be nice, after I retired, to stay and raise our kids there. But you wanted to stay here, so we stayed.” He makes it sound so simple, and Coach’s words echo in Bitty’s head: _When you’re happy, he’s happy._

Bitty turns to face Jack, closing a bit of the distance between them as he does. “Thank you.” He’s not sure, exactly, what he’s thanking Jack for. Maybe everything.

Jack nudges Bitty’s shin with his foot. “Thank _you_ for the pie tonight. I’ve missed it.” 

“Well, it _is_ Thanksgiving. Can’t exactly serve sugar-free-dairy-free-pie-like-dessert.”

“Can’t wait for that sugar-free-dairy-free-pie-like-dessert.”

“Just you wait, I’ll make you make it with me for that video the publisher wants.” Bitty nudges him back.

Jack sighs contentedly. “I’ve missed you _so much_ , Bits.”

Even though he’s right here, Bitty thinks he understands. He remembers that good feeling of flirting with Jack in the airport, and fumbles under the covers until he finds Jack’s hand. “You are so good to me, Jack Zimmermann,” he says, intertwining their fingers. It’s not quite _I love you_ , but he can tell, by Jack’s sleepy smile and the way he dips his forehead a just little closer to Bitty’s, that tonight it’s exactly what he needs to hear.


	9. Chapter 9

The rest of the long Thanksgiving weekend is a piece of cake compared to that first evening with Bitty’s parents.

Telling the Zimmermanns about Bitty’s _affliction_ , as Mama insists on calling it, is a lot easier. “I thought you seemed a little tired lately, honey,” Alicia says, “but you hid it so well I never would have suspected something like this was going on.”

They’re mostly relieved, they admit, that all of Bitty and Jacks’ mysterious trips to doctors and therapists aren’t a sign that Jack is in the middle of a relapse. They remind them their offer to help out is always there, especially if Bitty starts to feel overwhelmed when Jack’s away on roadies. Bitty suspects Bob and Alicia will have more questions later, but his own troubles are overshadowed by Carter, who keeps everyone smiling with his walking attempts.

“Next Thanksgiving,” Bob predicts, “we’ll have that boy on the ice.”

Bitty meets Jack’s eye from across the room and they share a private smile.

“Not if he gets his hands on a football first,” Coach says good-naturedly.

“Oh, boys, stop it,” Alicia scolds. “That face is too cute for a contact sport. Get him a modeling contract.”

“That might be the best idea yet,” Bitty agrees. “Jack has that camera in his face all the time anyway.”

By the time Mama and Coach head home, three days after Thanksgiving, Bitty is more than ready to see them go. Mama did eventually apologize for arguing with Jack, and she’s been trying to be helpful, but her constant hovering has Bitty on edge.

“It’s like she thinks I have two broken legs instead of a broken brain!” Bitty complains to Jack the night before they leave.

“Shhh, they’ll hear you,” Jack says. “And you’re not broken. She’s just trying to help in her own way.”

“Well, she’s acting like I’m a toddler,” Bitty grumbles. “She asked if I need help with the laundry.”

“She always offers to help with laundry when she’s here because you hate doing laundry.”

“ _Jack_. Do you want my mama touching your _underwear_?”

Jack shrugs. “Doesn’t matter to me, as long as it gets folded and put away.”

That’s a chirp. “I only left it that _one time_.”

“That you remember.”

That’s a chirp too. Bitty’s glad they’re at the point where they can joke about his faulty memory. The inside jokes make him feel like they’re a normal couple.

Speaking of _normal couples_ , intimacy with Jack is … well, progress on that front is a little slower. Sharing a bed these past few days has been nice. This morning they woke up curled together and Bitty didn’t even feel that brief surge of panic that used to accompany Jack’s touch.

Baby steps, he supposes. 

“It's not that I don't want to," he whispers to Jack as they lie together the night after Thanksgiving. “I mean, it would be a little weird with my parents down the hall and all, but I guess that never stopped us before. I just don't know if ...”

“Bits, it's okay. I'm okay with slowing things down.” 

In addition to being a purveyor of terrible dad jokes and more romantic than Bitty ever would have guessed, Jack Zimmermann has the patience of a saint.

“My therapist said it might help to tell you what I like about you? Like, in a sexy kind of way?”

Jack is laughing at him. He can't hear it, but he can feel it. “A ‘sexy kind of way?’”

“Stop your chirping.” Bitty shoves him and of course he doesn't move.

“I'm sorry, bud, go ahead. Tell me why you think I'm sexy.”

“Well, um, I’ve always liked your butt. And your biceps, the way they look when you wear the one shirt down in the gym? You look like you can pick me up with one arm.”

It's a little hard to see in the dark, but Bitty is almost positive Jack flexes. “I can.”

“And I like the way you sing to Carter at night and the way you look in your reading glasses when you’re watching tape at night.”

Jack snorts. “Really? That’s sexy?”

Bitty considers this. “Well, yeah. I guess maybe those things wouldn’t have mattered so much when we met, but oh, honey, you have to know you’re a hot dad.”

“Not as hot as you,” Jack says, lightly trailing a hand along Bitty’s inner thigh and dipping his head closer to Bitty’s.

“When you eat one of my desserts and you get this look on your face like …”

“Like …” Jack prods.

“Like maybe it’s me you want to eat instead.” 

“Always,” Jack growls.

Their faces are so, so close. If Bitty can just close the distance …

Before he can talk himself out of it, he presses his lips to Jack’s.

Bitty’s first kiss is short but so sweet. Jack seems surprised at first but quickly leans into it, breaking it off before they can go to far. “Is that …?” he asks.

Bitty nods. “I don’t know if I’m ready for more, but I liked that.” His heart is beating wildly. He might not survive much more than kissing tonight.

“Can we do it again?” Jack asks, almost shyly.

“You can kiss me again, Mr. Zimmermann.”

So kissing is going okay — really well, in fact — but telling their friends, most of whom Bitty doesn’t remember, still hasn't happened. He’s been putting off talking to “Lardo,” responding to her texts with generic replies. “Hey, girl! Just busy getting this book to press and taking care of this baby. Life, you know?” he’d responded a week ago when she asked if he was still alive.

“I get it. Send pics of the kid.”

That kept her happy, for a while. But the day his parents go back to Madison, he receives a message that requires a response:

“Cookie party plans? I thought you’d be all over the Williams-Sonoma Black Friday sale.”

“Cookie party?” he asks Jack.

“Oh, yeah!” Jack’s eyes light up with an enthusiasm he typically reserves for hockey and their little family. “Every year, you and Lardo host a cookie decorating party at our place. You choose a theme together and you do the baking and plan the menu. Lardo is sort of the … art director? Last year the theme was gingerbread people. I think you wrote about it on your blog.”

Bitty’s blog has been a great reference these past few weeks. He quickly finds the post and skims it to get up to speed. Apparently, he and Lardo started the party years ago as a late night Cookies and Cocktails party for their friends. When everyone started having kids, they moved it to a Saturday afternoon and changed the name to Cookies and Cocoa.

“Those early years were pretty fun,” Jack says. “Lots of, uh, creativity. But the past few years have been fun, too. You give each kid a chef’s toque with their name on it and a little decorating kit. It’s cute.”

It sounds adorable. “I bet the little ones are better at decorating than a bunch of drunk adults,” Bitty says with a giggle.

“You’d be surprised. Ransom gets very creative when he’s drunk.”

Bitty decides the best course of action is to just plan the party, then wait until the event to tell their closest friends in person.

 

_Me: You have a theme in mind?_

_Lardo: I saw a really cute snow globe craft that would be fun to make with the kids. What about snowflakes and snowpeople?_

_Me: Cute!_

 

So that’s settled. Bitty’s throwing a “Snowflakes and Snowpeople” party and his friends don’t know it yet, but that’s when he’ll be meeting most of them for the first time.

 

“So Ransom and Holster each have two little ones, and they’ll be here with their families?” Bitty asks Jack as he prepares the guest list. “And Shitty and Lardo come, too?”

“It’s sort of an SMH reunion,” Jack explains. “Shitty and Lardo always bring her niece and one of her friends.”

“Is that all?”

“Well, there’s Tater. He clears his schedule every year.”

“Tater. That’s one of your old Falconers teammates, right? How many kids does he have?”

Jack huffs out a laugh. “None. Tater’s just a big kid himself. And he’d never forgive us if we don’t invite him.”

“Okay then, Rans, Holster, Shitty, Lardo, and Tater. And their partners. And six kids. And a baby. That shouldn’t be too difficult.”

From what Jack has told Bitty, Lardo and Shitty have been together since Shitty graduated from Samwell, though they’ve agreed marriage and children aren’t for them. They’re happy to play aunt and uncle to their friends’ kids, a number that’s growing by the year.

“Ransom and Holster have to do everything together,” Jack explains with a laugh, “so their wives even get pregnant at the same time.”

Bitty tries to imagine Ransom and Holster as _parents_. Sure, they took him under their wings when he first got to Samwell, but they also tried to make a play out of his checking fear. According to Jack, they run a successful consulting firm together. Bitty isn’t sure what that means, and he’s not sure Jack quite gets it, either. It sounds like they’ve done well for themselves, though.

“What about the other guys from the team?” Bitty asks.

“Well, most of our friends from college have kind of scattered. Jobs, grad school, or they just moved back home after graduation. Even some of the guys I played with early in my career got traded. So the party’s gotten smaller over the years. But not really, because of the kids.”

“I’m just glad I remember some of them,” Bitty says. “It’s nice we’re all still so close.”

“Some of us a little closer than others,” Jack says, leaning in for a kiss Bitty happily accepts.

Yeah, the kissing stuff is going really well.

On the morning of the party, Lardo and Shitty arrive early with two little girls who look about seven or eight. 

“ _Dude_ ,” Lardo says, giving Jack a fist bump before embracing Bitty in hug that just might crush him. “I know you’re all famous and stuff, but you can call or write once in a while. Never thought you’d forget us little people. Zimmermann, give me that baby and help Shits with the boxes in the car.”

Bitty loves her right away.

Shitty — clean-shaven and older now — and girls file into the house after Lardo, each carrying a box of party decorations.

“Y’all can set those down right there.” Bitty gestures to the large table he brought in from the garage and set up in the dining room. “We’ll get things put up in just a bit. Girls,” he says, addressing Lardo’s niece Polly and her friend Jess, “will you be sweethearts and play with the baby while I talk to Auntie Larissa and Uncle …”

“B,” Jack interrupts.

“Uncle B,” Bitty finishes lamely. “What’s the B for?” Bitty whispers to Jack as they lead Shitty and Lardo into the kitchen.

“Tell you later,” Jack whispers back.

Shitty and Lardo take the news better than Mama, which is something, at least. Shitty keeps patting Bitty on the back and repeating, “Brah, we’ll figure this out,” even as Bitty and Jack reiterate that they _are_ trying to figure it out.

“So you don’t know me at all?” Lardo asks, narrowing her eyes and studying Bitty’s face for some hint of recognition.

“I’m sorry,” Bitty apologizes. “I know you’re my best friend, but I can’t remember anything after the Yale game my first semester at Samwell. Jack says I met you a few months after that.”

“ _Weird_ ,” Lardo says, seemingly unperturbed. “I think I’m gonna need a little time and some weed to process this, but first we need to get this party set up.” Without missing a beat, she shifts into what Bitty assumes is her team manager mode, directing the small group to hang decorations and set up art stations.

Bitty, for his part, has spent the past two days making four dozen snowflake- and snowman-shaped sugar cookies, frosting, and other appropriately-themed treats.

Yesterday afternoon, while Jack was at practice, he’d made a trip to the liquor store to buy ingredients for the adults-only snow globe cocktails. That was certainly a new experience, and Bitty had felt almost offended when the cashier didn’t even ask for his ID.

“Let it go,” Jack had said as Bitty jammed a gumdrop snowman into the bottom of a cocktail glass and complained about looking too old to card. “Ha ha. Get it?”

“I get it,” Bitty had mumbled, cracking a smile in spite of himself.

While Lardo and Shitty are busy transforming the dining room into a winter wonderland, Bitty and Jack set bowls of frosting, small candies, and colored sugar in the middle of the decorating table and a plate of cookies at each seat.

“Take a picture now,” Jack advises, “because it won’t look like this for very long.”

At ten on the dot, Ransom and Holster pull up in identical mini vans. As Jack had noted, their kids are matched sets: Each has a five-year old daughter and a three-year-old son, who run into the house in a pack, demanding to see “Baby Carter.” Even their wives, Brie and Beth, look similar enough that Bitty has to ask Jack if they’re sisters (they aren’t).

Tater arrives right behind them, in a sleek sports car that clearly indicates his childless status. His wife, Jack mentioned earlier, is a popular local morning show host in Providence. She had sent her regrets, saying she’d be hosting the Providence Christmas parade today.

“Little B, Zimmboni,” Tater says, thrusting a small gift-wrapped package toward Bitty. “I have present for Baby Carter.”

“Thanks, Tater,” Jack says. “We’ll put it under the tree for later.”

“The kids wanted to give Carter presents too,” Brie (or is it Beth?) tells Bitty, handing him a stack of papers. They’re all drawings — a snowman, a turkey (“somebody still thinks it’s Thanksgiving”), another snowman, and three stick figures holding hockey sticks with “SMH!” carefully printed above them. Bitty feels a surge of affection for these three families who obviously love his own little family.

“These are so sweet!” he says, showing the pictures to Jack. “They’re going on the fridge for sure.”

Jack takes a picture of the kids sitting around the table before they let them begin decorating, though Bitty notices Holster has already helped himself to a handful of M&Ms that are meant to be used for buttons and eyes. “Next year,” Tater says proudly as the kids smile, “we will have little one of our own to help decorate cookies.”

“No, way! Congrats, man!” Jack lowers his camera so he can hug his former teammate. “Bit of an early Christmas gift, eh?”

The rest of the group echoes Jack’s congratulations, and Ransom and Holster spend the next ten minutes giving Tater their best advice on how to cope with a spouse who’s expecting.

“I guess the two of you didn’t have to worry about that, did you?” Beth asks Bitty and Jack as she helps one of the kids place red hot buttons on his snowman cookie.

“No, but the late nights and early mornings once the baby’s here are the same, I'm sure,” Jack says with a chuckle.

“And _that_ ,” Lardo says, looking up from the pop art snowman she’s creating, “is why I’m never letting Shitty knock me up.”

“Oh, the late nights aren’t that bad,” Bitty says. “You get used to it real quick.”

“It was a real wakeup call for Bits the second time around.”

Bitty groans at Jack’s terrible pun and realizes he needs to explain the “second time around” comment to Ransom, Holster, and Tater. He’s getting very good at telling this story, though the telling of it never ceases to be weird.

Once the initial shock wears off, Ransom and Holster think it’s hilarious. “ _Bro_ ,” Ransom says, gleefully elbowing Holster in the ribs. “Bitty doesn’t remember _anything_ about college. We can have so much fun with this!”

“Dude, he doesn’t know about Ollie and Wicky!”

“Or Shitty’s real name!”

“Oh, ha ha, boys. Keep making fun of me and I’ll take those cookies away.”

“Still sound like yourself,” Holster says, smearing a giant glob of blue frosting onto his snowman. “Remember that time he cut me off of pie for a week because I left a Gatorade bottle of milk in between the couch cushions?”

“Bro, that was disgusting. He should have cut you off for a month.”

Despite the gentle ribbing, they manage to behave themselves until Tater innocently makes a comment about introducing his future child to Ransom’s little girl.

“And maybe someday my boy or girl and Randy’s little Sabrina will fall in love and we can all be family,” he says with a wink in Ransom’s direction.

“Randy?” Bitty asks.

“Dude, it was the best!” Holster crows. “Rans used to have the hugest crush on Tater —”

“He still does!” Brie yells from the kitchen.

“— and he could barely keep it together whenever he was around. It took him years to work up the nerve to tell him his name is Justin, not Randy.”

“And it’s taken you even longer to forget it,” Ransom groans.

“ _I_ forgot it,” Bitty says, striving for humor. Suddenly, all laughter stops and everyone just looks stricken, as if they’ve just realized what Bitty’s condition really means for him.

“It’s fine,” Bitty says with a casual wave of his hand. “I have to be able to laugh at myself now and then.”

“Then this might be a good time to tell you about how _terrible_ you were about hiding your relationship when you and Jack first started dating,” Lardo says with an evil gleam in her eye.

“‘Jack Laurent Zimmermann, you are the sweetest, handsomest, _silliest_ boy on this planet,’” Ransom and Holster say together, in an almost perfect imitation of Bitty’s accent.

Bitty claps a hand over his mouth.

“You said that,” Jack confirms, walking by and stealing a cookie from Bitty’s pile. “It was cute.”

“Fine!” four former SMH members and Tater scream.

Bitty laughs until he cries, only a little embarrassed. He likes his friends. This party is a far cry from a Haus kegster, but it feels right in the same way being with Jack feels right.

“You got the fines,” Jack says, dropping a kiss onto Bitty’s head. “I got the prize.”

“FIIIIIIIINE.”

Carter laughs and bangs a little fist on the table.

“Lord help us, if this baby starts fining us …” 

Lardo snorts. “He’ll have college paid for in a year."

“College _and_ car,” Tater adds.

Bitty meets Jack’s eye and grins. Based on the way things have been going these past couple of weeks, they really _are_ that couple.  He can't say he minds at all.

Four hours later, all four dozen cookies have been frosted, a good two dozen have been eaten, and the rest have been packaged in take-home containers along with the leftover popcorn and fudge. The kids have spent an hour chasing Daisy in the backyard and their parents have enjoyed the alcoholic beverages Bitty so carefully prepared. (“So much classier than Tub Juice,” Shitty had observed, pulling a spring of rosemary from his cocktail glass.) Now Lardo and Tater, of all people, are helping the kids put the finishing touches on their snow globe crafts and the rest of the group is sprawled out in the living room watching — no big surprise here — a hockey game. Carter, who was too excited by the presence of the big kids to go down for his nap, is asleep on Jack’s lap, and Bitty’s pretty sure he’s caught Jack stop himself from nodding off more than once.

“Remember when we could play a hockey game and stay up partying all night?” Holster asks through a yawn. “How did we let these kids break us?”

Bitty giggles and leans against Jack. “Don’t know, but I’m gonna go ahead and fall asleep right here. That okay, Sweetpea?”

The endearment slips out before Bitty even realizes what he’s said. It’s not something he’s called Jack before, but it feels natural to say it. He thinks Jack likes it too, because his cheeks turn a little pink and he smiles the way he sometimes does when Bitty does something he really likes.

“Fine,” Ransom whispers from the other side of the room.

Jack — carefully, without disturbing Carter — reaches over and pulls Bitty a little closer so his head can rest on his shoulder. “I’ve got you, Bits,” he whispers.

It might be twenty minutes, or just twenty seconds later, when Bitty jerks awake to a  _ping_  coming from Jack’s watch.

“Shit,” Jack says, glancing at the message displayed on its face. “It’s my GM, can you take him?” he asks, passing Carter off to Bitty. “I have to take this.”

“Everything okay?” Bitty asks.

“Something’s going on with one of my rookies,” he says, phone out and heading toward the stairs. When he returns a few minutes later, he looks pissed. It’s as close to Angry Hockey Robot Jack Zimmermann as Bitty has ever seen him.

“I have to go do damage control,” he says, pulling his coat off of the hook by the door.

“Are you —” Bitty stands and follows Jack to the door, Carter still asleep in his arms.

“Holmes got arrested last night. They want me to be there with management to make a statement to the media or something. I shouldn’t be long.”

“I think we’re just about ready to wrap things up, anyway,” Shitty says loudly, for the benefit of those still in the kitchen.

“I’ll order a pizza or something for when you get back,” Bitty says as Jack opens the door.

“Perfect, thanks. I’ll see you soon.”

In his haste, Jack almost runs into the mailman who’s standing on the porch, small package in hand. “So sorry!” Jack yells back at him as he runs for the car, which he left parked on the curb earlier after making a last minute beer run.

“I have a package for an Eric Bittle,” the very confused mailman says. “Can one of you sign for it?”


	10. Chapter 10

The package doesn’t have a return address.

“Open it,” Lardo, who has wandered over from the kitchen, says.

“Open it! Open it!” the kids chant.

“All right, hang on, y’all. Let’s go inside where it’s warm.” Bitty takes the box inside and carefully peels away the packing tape. Inside is … “A puck?” It’s a used puck, at that.

“Super weird,” Shitty says as Bitty takes it out. The kids merely look disappointed and run back outside.

Bitty turns the puck over and over, feeling the cold weight of it in his hands. Why would somebody send him a puck? It’s not like they don’t have about a million stuck in random places all over the house. Pucks from SMH and NCAA Frozen Four games. Pucks from NHL regular season and playoff and All-Star games. Pucks from Stanley Cup championship games. Boxes of brand new pucks stacked on shelves in the garage. Bitty thinks they could open a store, or at least a thriving eBay business, with all the pucks they have.

“Wait, I think there’s a note in here,” Bitty says, rooting through the packing peanuts until he extracts a small piece of paper. He unfolds it and begins to read:

_“‘Bitty. First of all, I guess I should congratulate you on your marriage. Sorry it’s so late —’”_

“Chyeah, only like seven years late.” Lardo says.

_“‘— I was going through my things and I found this puck from your goal when we played Yale. Somehow, it must have gotten mixed up with my stuff. Thought you might want it for your little Bittle-Zimmermann. Remember, you’re always where you need to be. Your friend, John Johnson.’”_

“Johnson?” Shitty repeats, incredulous.

“Dude,” Lardo says, “I thought he faked his own death.”

“I thought he joined a cult,” Holster says.

“I heard he paid somebody a bunch of money to be on the first tourist flight to Mars,” Ransom says.

“He did not, they would have profiled him in that big _BuzzFeed_ story,” Holster argues.

“ _BuzzFeed_ is still around?” Bitty asks.

“Who is Johnson?” Tater asks.

Bitty just holds the puck in trembling hands. It seems significant, somehow, that the game this puck is from features in his last memory before waking up here.

“Johnson was one of our goalies back at Samwell,” Ransom explains for Tater’s benefit. “Before Chowder. He gave Bitty his Haus dibs.”

“He was always kind of an odd dude,” Holster adds. “Nice guy, but strange. I haven’t seen him since his graduation.”

“No, he was at Ollie and Wicky’s wedding, wasn’t he?” Lardo asks.

Everybody seems to consider this for a moment before Shitty shrugs. “I _think_ he was there? But you know, now I really don’t remember.”

“Wait.” Bitty is determined to get to the bottom of this mystery but first he has to address the other surprise revelation of the past five minutes: “Ollie and Wicky got _married_?”

 

Shitty, Lardo, and the girls stick around to help Bitty clean up after the rest of the party guests have left. Bitty sets the puck on the coffee table to deal with later but it might as well be glowing; it keeps catching his eye as he bustles around putting things away and picking up baby toys.

“I need to get these girls home,” Lardo says when they’ve taken down all of her decorations and loaded them back in her car. “Shits, you wanna stay with Bits until Jack gets back?”

“You down for that, Bits?”

Bitty nods. Before everything — before Lardo and Jack — Shitty was his closest friend at Samwell. There’s some comfort, now, in having him here.

“Go on,” Shitty tells Lardo and the girls. “I’ll call a ride when I’m ready to go home.”

Jack is still out — and the puck’s still on the table — when the pizza delivery arrives just after six. Bitty settles on the couch and turns on _SportsCenter_ , curious to see if whatever crisis Jack is managing will make it on air, but he spends more time staring at the puck than the TV.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Shitty asks, nodding at the puck.

Bitty doesn’t answer, just takes another bite of his pizza so he can buy a little time.

“Because I have to say,” Shitty continues, “getting a mysterious package from a dude I haven’t seen in years would freak me out a little.”

Bitty sets his pizza on the paper plate in his lap. “Did I ever tell you I thought about quitting the team after I scored that goal?” he asks. He isn’t just bringing it up because of the letter; he genuinely wants to know.

Shitty’s look of surprise says it all. “I know your first semester at Samwell was difficult,” he says, “but I didn’t know you seriously considered leaving.” He sighs. “Jack?”

“He hated me,” Bitty says. There’s no sugar coating it.

“The two of you had some growing pains,” Shitty concedes. “But it all worked out.”

“He told me that goal was a lucky shot. I thought I’d finally made him proud, that he finally saw I belonged on the team. It was humiliating. I was going to quit.”

“What changed?”

“I woke up here.”

“Right, I keep forgetting about the memory thing. I wish I could help you, man, but if you were feeling bad about how things were with Jack after that game, you never mentioned it to me. And you told me pretty much everything. Do you know I was the first person you came out to?”

This is not something Bitty knows. “Really?”

“You had note cards and everything. Pretty sure you prepared more for that talk that you did for any class you ever took.”

Bitty trusts Shitty. He’s always trusted Shitty, especially during those first weeks at Samwell when he wasn’t sure he’d ever find his place. He wonders if he can trust him with a secret he’s been keeping from Jack. “Shitty, I still don’t think I have amnesia. I think I really did go to sleep after that game and wake up here.”

Bitty knows that Shitty “took a walk” while he was putting Carter to bed for the night. As a result, he may be just high enough to take Bitty’s claim at face value.

“Like in the movie _Big_?”

“That’s what Coach said. But kind of? I still feel like I’m a kid playing house. Shouldn’t I feel older?”

Shitty slowly releases a breath. “I don’t know, man. What’s amnesia supposed to feel like? Have you talked about this with your therapist?”

“I’ve talked around it with her,” Bitty admits. “It’s not an easy thing to say.”

“And I’m guessing you haven’t told Jack.”

“I kind of hinted at it once. It didn’t go over well.”

“Can you blame him? It’s Jack. He’s one of the most standup guys I know, but he’s always been a little short on whimsy.”

“You think if I go to one of those fortune telling machines and make a wish, I’ll get my old life back?”

Shitty’s quiet for a long time.“What do you mean by your  _old_  life? The life you remember leaving back at Samwell, where you’re still afraid of checking and you’re not out and you’re apparently about to leave us all in the lurch and go home? Or your life right here that you don’t remember?”

Bitty sighs. It would crush Jack if, after all he’s done to help Bitty these past weeks, he told him something about all this still doesn’t feel quite _right_. But he can tell Shitty. “I don’t know,” he says in a small voice. “I guess they’re both the same thing, right? If I somehow could go back to the last moment I remember, I’d get to do it all again. If I wake up tomorrow and I’m able to remember everything, then I won’t feel like I’ve missed out.”

“Look, Bits,” Shitty finally says, “I get that you feel like you’ve got this missing piece right now. I think that’s better left to you and your therapist to figure out. But as somebody who’s known you and Jack for a long time, I can tell you that what you have is the real deal. You’re meant to be together. All of us saw it the minute you told us you were dating. When Lardo and I were still figuring our shit out, you guys were, like, eight steps ahead of us. Before you got married Jack insisted you both go to some kind of pre-marital counseling bullshit, even though you were the most solid couple any of us knew, because he wanted to make sure you knew how to be good husbands to each other. The poor lady gave you your money back after two sessions because she said she had nothing to teach you. She told you she wished all the couples she saw communicated and respected each other the way you do. The two of you are goals, man. Just … don’t doubt you and Jack. I don’t think my heart could take it if the two of you can’t make it work.”

“We’re making it work,” Bitty says in exasperation. “It’s just —” he loses his train of thought when Jack’s face appears on TV.It’s recorded footage of him and his general manager, Sally, making a statement about the earlier incident.

“The Bruins organization holds its players and employees to the highest standards, on and off the ice,” Sally says, “which is why we’ve taken action and suspended Nick Holmes for the next three games.”

“It’s a blow to be losing a key player going into next week’s road series,” Jack adds, “but we’re a strong team. I’m sure he won’t make this mistake again.”

Bitty looks at Shitty. “What?” he mouths. Shitty just shrugs.

“That was Boston Bruins general manager Sally O’Neal and captain Jack Zimmermann speaking about rookie defenseman Nick Holmes’ arrest last night,” the _SportsCenter_ anchor says as the footage shifts back to the newsroom. “Holmes was spotted in a Boston bar last night getting close to pop star Gabi Hayes, only to get in a fight with her boyfriend, MMA fighter Chad Burrows, when he showed up with friends later in the evening. Both men were arrested and released on bail earlier this morning. Holmes faces a three game personal conduct suspension for his actions.”

“Oh my lord, he’s so stupidly handsome,” Bitty groans as _SportsCenter_ cuts back to footage from the presser. 

Shitty laughs, full and deep. “I get it, man. If I woke up one morning and found out I get to tap the Zimmermann ass on the regular, I’d be overwhelmed, too.”

Bitty isn’t sure if he should be appalled by or grateful for Shitty’s candor. “That’s not exactly …”

“ _Ohhh_ ,” Shitty says, saving Bitty from having to divulge the specifics of his nonexistent sex life. “The two of you aren’t there yet?”

“ _Nope_.”

“But you want …?”

“Shitty, look at him! Of course I want. We’re getting there,” Bitty says defensively.

“Is this about the whole not feeling this is real thing?”

“It’s about me still feeling like an 18-year-old, closeted virgin who can’t quite believe this is his life.”

Shitty rests his chin in his hands and studies Jack on TV. “Chyeah, you definitely won the jackpot there. Look at him. It only took him his entire career to figure out how to handle the media like a boss,” he says like a proud father. “Bet he won’t be that nice to the rookie when he talks to him.”

Bitty thinks about the angry set of Jack’s jaw after the Yale game and can only imagine. “When did things change?” he asks as _SportsCenter_ finally cuts to a commercial.

“What?” Shitty drags his eyes away from the TV.

“With me and Jack. Before … all this … the reason I decided to go home is because Jack was so angry about that goal. When did we become friends? When did we become more?”

Jack has told him the story, more than once, but always through his own biased eyes. “You just made me feel the same way as hockey,” he’d said once. Which, okay, it’s Jack. Bitty supposes in Jack’s opinion, there’s no greater compliment than being compared to hockey. But he wonders, still, what everyone else saw.

Shitty takes a moment to consider Bitty’s question and finally says, “It was slow. It was so slow none of us saw it happening until you were together and then it was like, _of course_. I’d say you started to warm up to each other by the end of that season, when you were playing on the same line, but you didn’t really become friends until you moved into the Haus. I think before then, Jack still felt like he was responsible for you. And then you moved in and you took a class together and you coached him through your big baking project and that’s when he started seeing you as an equal. Maybe? I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it and I’m still kind of high right now.” Shitty shrugs. “He just always seemed happier when he was with you. Like, I never really considered the two of you being in love or whatever, but as soon as we found out, it was impossible _not_ to see how good you are for each other. He loves you. And you love him.”

“I know. Believe me, I know. I love Jack.”

He does. Bitty hasn’t voiced it before, but he loves Jack. No matter what. Even if he’s never able to remember their first kiss, or first date, or first everything. He doesn’t need to remember, because he loves Jack _now_. He loves the Jack who reads to their son at night and laughs at his own terrible jokes. The Jack who gets home late and still cooks dinner so he and Bitty can eat together. The Jack who loves him, so patiently, even when he’s lost patience with himself. This Jack isn’t all that different from the Jack who nagged him about his diet and worked with him until he could take a check. At his core, he’s still the same Jack Bitty must have fallen in love with at Samwell. And Bitty’s the same Bitty, even if things are a little different.

“I love Jack,” he repeats. “I love him so much.” He has to tell him, he realizes. “Shitty, can I call a car to take you home?”

Shitty raises an eyebrow. “Kicking me out so you can get ready to seduce your man? I’ve gotta tell you, I don’t think it’ll take much, but if you need help, I happen to know you guys have a drawer full of —”

“Shitty Knight! I don’t wanna know what you know about what Jack and I get up to!” Bitty lobs a wadded up napkin at Shitty’s head.

Shitty cackles and ducks. “Okay, I’m leaving. Look, I’m ordering a car right now. Call us tomorrow to spill the deets.”

Bitty’s face is on fire. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” he says primly.

“ _Deets_ ,” Shitty repeats. “Just enough to let us know you guys are okay.”

Bitty throws another napkin but laughs. “I think we’re gonna be okay.”

 

Jack gets home at a quarter to nine, looking a combination of exhausted and frustrated until Bitty greets him with a kiss right there in the doorway because suddenly it’s very important that he doesn’t let another minute pass before _really_ making sure Jack knows how he feels.

“Mm. Wow.” Jack pulls back, clearly surprised but pleased. His eyes are still heavy with stress, but there’s a spark of something that Bitty recognizes as _interest_.

“You hungry?” Bitty asks. “Shitty and I saved a few slices of pizza, and we have some leftovers from the party.”

“Nah, I ended up eating with Sally and Holmes,” Jack huffs, hanging his coat by the door and bending to untie his shoes. “Sorry that took so long. Wasn’t expecting to have to make a statement to the press _and_ have a heart-to-heart with a scared rookie.” He looks around the empty house. “Carter?”

“Carter’s in bed and Shitty went home an hour ago. We saw the presser. Is Holmes okay? How bad is it?”

“The kid’ll be fine,” Jack says, crossing to the couch and sighing deeply as he sinks into it. “I think I scared some sense into him.” He finds Bitty’s hand and gently pulls him down next to him. “If I weren’t retiring, I’m pretty sure this would be the sign it’s time. I’m getting too old for this rookie bullshit. Every year these kids seem younger and dumber and I sound more and more like a disappointed dad.”

“Hate to break it to you honey, but you’ve always had that vibe,” Bitty says. Now that he’s on the other side of it, he can joke about it.

“I’ve seen a lot of kids do dumb things on and off the ice, but I’ve never had one of my guys get arrested. I don’t think he’ll be doing it again. Not if he wants to keep playing.”

Bitty relaxes a little and rests his head on Jack’s shoulder. “Rookie mistakes, I guess.”

Jack snorts. “Good one.”

“I think you’re rubbing off on me.” He pokes Jack in the ribs, in the spot he’s discovered is just a little ticklish. “You’ll never guess what was in that package that got delivered,” he says, changing the subject.

“Anything interesting?”

Bitty points at the puck on the table in front of them. “You remember Johnson?”

“From Samwell? I haven’t heard from him in years. Is he still a tour guide in Peru?”

“Huh. That sounds more likely than outer space, which is what Ransom thought. He’s earthbound now, anyway, because he sent that with a note saying it’s the puck from my goal against Yale. Weird, right?”

Jack untangles himself from Bitty and leans closer to the table. “How would he know?” he asks, picking up the puck. “Never mind, it’s Johnson.”

“How’d he get it, do you think?”

“I think … I had it. I remember the Yale goalie handed it off to me at the end of the game and I was going to give it to you, but then my dad … and I was upset —”

“You never gave it to me,” Bitty says, but there’s no heat in his assertion. “Not that night, anyway.”

Jack slowly shakes his head. “Not that night,” he agrees. “I remember taking it back to the Haus and I guess I just forgot about it after that. I don’t know how the hell Johnson got it, or why he never gave it to you then. Chances are it just got lost in the Haus and ended up in his room.”

“Seems like an awful weird coincidence,” Bitty says, “that it would show up right after I lose my memory of everything that happened after that game.”

“Maybe not a coincidence,” Jack says, sitting back again. “Maybe it’s just meant to be. It’s nice he got it back to you, though. You _should_ have the puck from your first goal. It’ll be fun to show Carter when he’s older.” He hands the puck back to Bitty.

“Yeah, that’s kind of what the note said.It also said something about being where I need to be. That doesn’t seem like a coincidence, does it?”

“No, that just sounds like Johnson.”

Bitty sits back and works his way under Jack’s arm. “At first I thought it was a hockey metaphor, but now I think he might be talking about us.”

“Hm?”

“I know I’ve forgotten near everything, and these last few weeks have been real trying, but I know I belong here with you and Carter. It’ll be a bit before I get used to it all and I just might be asking you questions for the rest of our lives, but this feels real. Even when it doesn’t feel real. You know?”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “Were you smoking with Shitty?”

“ _Noooo_. But he did tell me about a secret drawer and after he left I got a little curious …”

Bitty has (allegedly) forgotten a lot of things in his time, but he’s pretty sure that, as long as he lives, he’ll never forget the look on Jack’s face right now, a mixture of need and desire and _want_. “You know why I never went crazy when I was a rookie?” he asks.

Bitty shakes his head.

“I didn’t have to, because I already had everything I wanted.”

“All about the domestic life even then, huh?”

“Well …” Jack looks a little sheepish. “That, and why would I look twice at any pop star when I was dating you? Your dance moves back then would put any pop star to shame.”

Bitty giggles. “Hey, I bet I still have some moves!”

“Yeah, but do you have the shorts?” Jack asks, and that’s a challenge if Bitty’s ever heard one.

“I’ll have you know there was a pair of shorts in that drawer. Maybe not _the_ shorts, but —”

“I think we should continue this discussion upstairs,” Jack says, hooking an arm around Bitty’s waist and hauling him up with him.

“Mr. Bittle-Zimmermann, you are not going to carry me all the way up to our room!” Bitty shrieks. Good lord, Jack is strong.

“Shh. You’ll wake the baby,” Jack says in an exaggerated whisper.

“ _Jack_!”

Jack takes the stairs two at a time and drops Bitty on the bed before flopping down next to him, breathing heavily. Bitty loses his grip on the puck and it falls to the floor.

“You’re such a ridiculous moose,” Bitty says fondly as they both lie there, catching their breath. “I love you so much.”

Jack hooks his pinky around Bitty’s. “I love you too, Bits.”

 

Afterward, when they’re too tired to do much more than exchange lazy kisses but too awake to go to sleep, Bitty says, “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here.” 

Jack is the most relaxed Bitty has ever seen him, happy and satisfied, like the stress of the past weeks has melted away and he can finally breathe. Bitty still can’t quite believe _he’s_ the one who makes Jack look like this. “Some things are worth the wait,” he says, trailing a finger up and down Bitty’s chest. “Like you. And those shorts.”

Bitty makes a face and tugs at the waistband. “That was a one-time thing, probably. Did I really wear these all the time?”

“I told you, I didn’t look twice at pop stars or models.”

“I love you.”

Jack rolls over and pins Bitty to the mattress. “Do you love me like this?”

“Mmf. Yes.”

Jack rolls off of Bitty so he can breathe. “Will you love me when Carter wakes up in three hours and I pretend I’m asleep so I don’t have to get up with him?”

“Ugh. I guess.”

“What if I let Daisy sleep in the bed with us?”

“That’s pushing it, mister.”

Jack’s low laugh sounds like home. Bitty knows the dog will end up in their bed before the night is over, and the baby probably will too. They’ll both be tired in the morning, but they’ll be rested just enough to do it all again. Maybe they can get up early and take Carter out for a run in the stroller, if it's not too cold. Afterward, Bitty can make pancakes and serve them with Jack's favorite maple syrup. He nudges Jack with his foot, ready to tell him his plans, but Jack is already snoring. By now the sound is comforting. In the last few seconds before he falls asleep, Bitty still isn’t entirely sure how he got here, but he knows he’s never belonged anywhere more.


	11. Chapter 11

“Bittle.” 

“Mmf. Let me sleep, honey,” Bitty mumbles, burying his head in his pillow. Just a few more minutes of sleep is all he needs. The baby isn’t even crying.

“ _Bittle_.” Now Jack’s voice is accompanied by an insistent knocking. Did he lock himself out? The thought briefly passes through Bitty's head before sleep drags him back under. 

The knocking starts up again almost immediately, this time with more force. Bitty squints at his phone. Six-thirty. It’s way too early for this.  _No_ _, thank you, Mr. Zimmermann,_ he thinks as he rolls back over. His head feels achy, the way it always does after he's been crying. As he becomes more aware of his surroundings — why does his bed seem so small? —the memory of last night’s events begins to return: the game, the goal, Bad Bob Zimmermann, _Jack_. Was it only just last night? There’s something else there, superimposed on top of that memory like a very real dream: a big house, a baby, a dog, _Jack_.

Well, of course he’d dream about Jack — he was the last person Bitty talked to before going to bed. This is probably like that time he dreamed about crashing a wedding with Beyoncé after watching her videos right before bed.

“Bittle, get up!”

Bitty begrudgingly pulls himself from his warm bed and pads over to the door, cracking it just a bit. Jack Zimmerman is standing there, awkward but bright-eyed in jeans and a Samwell hoodie. He’s probably already run six miles and done a hundred pushups.

“Why are you here?” Bitty asks, failing to keep the bitter tone from his voice even as he finds the sight of Jack’s atrocious yellow running shoes inexplicably endearing.

“Euh, my dad wants to take you and your mom to breakfast before they have to leave. I’m supposed to tell you we’re meeting at Jerry’s in a half hour.”

Great. Bitty was hoping to tell Mama about quitting the team and be home before Jack finds out, and now he has to eat breakfast with the guy instead.

“I need to get dressed.” Bitty replies curtly.

“I can wait and we can walk over together,” Jack says, tone equally icy. Apparently he isn’t too enthused about their parents’ breakfast plans, either.

So, what? They’re just not going to speak of what happened after last night’s game? And why is Jack still standing in the doorway? “I need to get dressed,” Bitty repeats, gesturing to his Southern Junior Regionals shirt and plaid pajama bottoms.

“I can wait,” Jack says, shouldering past him into the room instead of waiting outside like any other person would. When they touch, something like an electric shock surges through Bitty. He gasps in surprise, wondering if Jack felt it, but Jack’s standing awkwardly, hands in pockets, just inside the doorway.

“What?” Jack asks.

Bitty studies Jack’s face for any sort of recognition. All he does is look mildly irritated, a deep groove etched between his brows. “Nothing,” he says, trying to grasp the last threads of his dream as it fades away like strands of cotton candy melting on his tongue. “Did I dream about you?”

Jack’s face is impressively neutral. “Did you?”

Right. Of course Jack wouldn’t know if Bitty dreamed about him. “Nothin’. Never mind,” he says as he pulls on his SMH hoodie and the nearest pair of jeans.

“Are you okay, Bittle? You look like you’re coming down with something.”

Bitty’s head feels stuffed with cotton and he’s sure his eyes are red, but he is definitely not telling Jack it’s because he was crying last night. “Just tired,” he manages.

“You should get to bed earlier. Between the season and finals coming up, you’ll need to be at the top of your game. We can’t afford to lose players to illness. Try to sub some green smoothies for those pumpkin spice lattes.”

Bitty scowls and sits on the edge of his bed to pull on his shoes. As he does, something on the ground catches his eye: a puck.

“Did you drop that?” he asks Jack, poking it with the toe of his Chuck Taylor.

Jack peers down at it. “That’s weird. That’s the puck from your goal last night. I had it with me after the game last night, but I took it back to the Haus.” He picks it up and hands it to Bitty. “Guess it found its way to you anyway.”

Something about the puck is tugging on the edges of Bitty’s memory. He's positive he and Jack have already had a version of this conversation but the memory is hazy and ephemeral, like déjà vu. As soon as he thinks he’s caught it, it disappears again.

“If you’re ready, let’s go,” Jack says. Bitty snaps back to attention.

One of Bitty’s suitemates exits his room, bleary-eyed, as Bitty and Jack leave. “Jesus, Eric, tell your boyfriend to stop coming by so early,” he grumbles. “It’s six-fucking-thirty.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Bitty automatically replies. _As if_. Lord, what a thing to say _in front of Jack_. Now Jack is probably wondering what Bitty told his suitemates about him. Yet something about the comment nags at him. Because Jack Zimmermann isn’t his boyfriend or even his friend, but in his very-real-seeming dream, Jack was definitely his _something._ But that thought disappears, too, as Bitty follows Jack outside into the brisk morning air.

The walk to Jerry’s is short and chilly. Jack frowns when Bitty shivers and buries his hands deeper in his pockets. “It’s only November, Bittle. What are you going to do when it gets cold?”

“I’ll be dressed appropriately because I’ll have time to check the weather before heading out.” Bitty’s hand closes around the puck, which he must have tucked into his pocket without realizing it. He pulls it out again and studies it. It’s just a normal puck. There’s nothing special about it. If Jack hadn’t told him it was from last night’s game, he’d never have known. So why is it so compelling?

“Oh, hey, you got it!” Johnson, who seems to have appeared out of nowhere because Bitty and Jack were definitely the only people on this path just a second ago, bumps shoulders with Bitty and holds his hand out expectantly. “The game winner.”

Bitty drops the puck in Johnson’s cupped palms. “We think it is. I found it in my room this morning.”

“Glad it made it. I thought it got lost. Or maybe it didn’t. Sometimes it’s really hard to keep the timelines straight, you feel me?”

“No,” Bitty and Jack say together.

“I found it on the kitchen counter. Figured Jack set it there while he was making his protein shake. I thought I’d take it for safekeeping before it gets lost. Since it really belongs to Bitty here.”

“I was going to give it to Bittle,” Jack mumbles.

“Did you bring it by last night?” Bitty asks. Maybe one of his suitemates let him in.

Johnson looks lost for a minute. “Yeah. That sounds right. Oh, hey, I have to get to the library. Have fun at breakfast. Your kids are gonna love that story.”

“Sure, Johnson,” Jack says.

“Do you get it now, Bitty?" Johnson calls as he jogs off. "Remember, you’re where you need to be!” 

Bitty shivers involuntarily as Johnson seems to recede into the distance. He notices Jack doing the same.

“Is the library even open this early?” Bitty finally asks. “And how’d he know we’re going to breakfast?”

Jack shrugs. “It’s Johnson. At some point we all just stopped questioning.”

Bitty can see the lights of Jerry’s up ahead, warm and welcoming. He begins to walk faster, ready to get inside and order a latte — with pumpkin spice syrup and extra whipped cream, thank you very much. Jack matches Bitty’s pace.

“There they are!” Bad Bob Zimmermann calls from a corner booth when they walk in.

Mama smiles brightly and waves. “Have you been here before, Dicky?” she asks, handing Bitty a menu. “Everything looks delicious.”

“I don’t know how my son has been here two years without telling me about this place,” Bob says, making room for Bitty and Jack to slide in next to him. “Jack, do you want to split an order of the cinnamon roll pancakes?”

“It’s the middle of the season,” Jack mumbles. “I’ll have eggs and whole wheat toast. Bittle should, too.”

When their waitress arrives Bitty orders the whoopie pies just to spite Jack, but doesn’t protest later when Jack slides some of his eggs onto his plate.

“Your mom was telling me you bake,” Bob says as they eat. “Do you think you can send some cookies back with Jack when he comes home for winter break?”

“If you don’t have to leave right away after breakfast, I can make some for you to take home today,” Bitty offers. Since he won’t be around to give Jack the cookies before winter break.

“Unfortunately, I have a flight to catch as soon as we leave here,” Bob apologizes. “Christmas, then?”

“Dicky makes the best peanut butter kisses for Christmas,” Suzanne says. “Honey, you should make those for the Zimmermanns.”

“Mother,” Bitty says, “Jack doesn’t eat sweets.”

Bob laughs out loud. “Oh, is that what Jack wants you to think?” He punches Jack in the arm. “I wonder where all the M&Ms disappear to every Christmas, then?”

“ _Papa_ ,” Jack mumbles, turning red.

“Even Jack can’t argue with peanut butter. Extra protein, am I right?” he asks Bitty.

“I use the natural kind to cut down on the sugar.”

“Interesting. Does it blend in the same?”

“Well, you have to get the pre-stirred kind …” Bitty and Bob — with occasional interjections from Mama — spend the rest of breakfast discussing the perfect ratio of peanut butter to flour and hand mixing versus the KitchenAid. Jack looks bored, probably because they aren’t talking about hockey. He just sits there, stabbing at his sad eggs like they’ve personally offended him.

“Breakfast is on me,” Bob says when the check arrives. “For that great play last night.”

“It was a lucky shot,” Bitty says with a sideways glance at Jack. He doesn’t want to be the reason for another Zimmermann conflict, or remind Jack why he hates him.

“Nonsense. You were where you needed to be and you made the shot. I’m really looking forward to seeing you play these next four years. Aren’t you, Jack?”

“Bittle’s speed has been a real asset,” Jack says, as if reading from a script. It’s probably the nicest thing he’s ever said about Bitty.

“He’s always been fast,” Mama says. “Rick hoped he’d put that speed to use on the football field, but Dicky’s always been more at home on the ice.”

“Jack, too,” Bob says with a laugh. “Good thing for Samwell they both ended up here, eh?”

Mama looks up at Bob with the same adoring look she usually reserves for Bitty’s father and pictures of Hugh Jackman. “Rick and I were a little nervous about sending Dicky so far away, but now I see this is the best place for him,” she agrees.

They part ways in the parking lot, the parents thanking each other and promising to keep in touch as the season progresses. Jack rides back to the Haus with Bob; Bitty gets in Suzanne’s rental car for the short drive back to his dorm. “Such a nice family,” Suzanne says. “I’m so glad you've found a supportive team here.”

Yeah, about that. Bitty takes a deep breath, knowing he has to say something now if he’s going to go home with Mama. “Mama, I —” He pauses, the words sticking in his throat. He tries again. “Mama?”

“Hm?”

“This semester has been real rough.”

“I know it has, honey. That’s why I’m extra proud of you. You know, some of your daddy’s boys who've gone on to play ball in college haven’t had such an easy time of it. I’m so glad I got to come see for myself how well you’re doing. Your daddy will be so disappointed he missed seeing you score that goal. Maybe he’ll be able to come to a game next year.”

Bitty thinks about where he’ll be a year from now, five years, ten. Where he’ll be if he quits the team  — Madison, probably, maybe going to the community college and giving figure skating lessons. He’d have to leave the East Coast, where he’s just beginning to see a way to be himself. He’d have to leave Shitty and Ransom and Holster, who have been better friends to him than anybody he went to high school with in Madison. There’d be no more hockey because Madison doesn’t have an adult league. Maybe things aren’t perfect here, but Johnson’s words echo in his head: “You’re where you need to be.”

Madison doesn’t feel like the place he needs to be.

So instead of asking if he can go home, Bitty changes course. “Thank you for letting me come all the way out here. I know you wanted me closer to home. All the plane trips back and forth must be so expensive.”

“We’re making it work, honey,” Mama says. “You just work hard and keep playing like you have been and let us worry about the money.” She pulls into a parking spot near Bitty’s dorm and stops the car. “Lord,” she says, wiping a tear from her eye. “I didn’t think it would be so hard to say goodbye.”

“You’re gonna see me for the holidays,” Bitty says, but he gives her an extra long hug. As they part, his phone pings with an incoming text. He waits until her car is no longer in sight, then looks at it:

 

Jack Zimmermann: _Bittle: My dad wants your cookie recipe. Maybe you can come by the Haus sometime and show me how to make them._

 

Bitty smiles to himself as he heads back to his room, newly resolved to make all of this — school, hockey, _Jack_ — work. He’s still figuring things out, but he's pretty sure this is where he needs to be to make it all happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we come to the end. But not really, because I plan to post the epilogue tomorrow.


	12. Epilogue

2030

 

The first thing Bitty notices when he wakes up is that somebody has changed his alarm from his generic iPhone chime to “Halo.”

The second thing he notices is that his bed seems much larger. He stretches in all directions and gasps when his foot brushes up against another leg.

That would be the third thing Bitty notices: He’s not alone in this bed. He’s not alone, yet the bed seems unusually empty. There isn’t a baby, or a dog, taking up space.

“ _Crisse_ , Bits, did you forget to turn off your alarm again? It’s Sunday. Turn that damn thing off.”

And there’s the fourth thing: Jack Zimmermann, sounding grumpy like he always does in the morning but smiling all the same.

“Am I dreaming?” Bitty asks. “Did we really manage to get a whole night of uninterrupted sleep?”

Jack smiles a little wickedly. “Well, not a _whole_ night. But nobody woke us up.”

“Lord, that was so good. Let’s do it again,” Bitty says.

Jack laughs. “The sex?”

“The _sleep_. When was the last time we got this many hours, uninterrupted?”

“January sixth,” Jack replies without hesitation. “Want me to make you some coffee?” He’s already up and out of bed. Bitty takes a moment to appreciate his husband’s still-perfect ass as he strides to the little coffee station on the other side of the room.

“Do you want creamer?” Jack asks as the coffee streams into the mug.

Bitty makes a face. “Is it that fake crap?”

Jack grins like a kid on Christmas morning, then reaches into the minifridge below the coffee maker and pulls out a slim carton. “I got your almond milk creamer. Pumpkin spice.” He does a goofy little dance with it that makes Bitty giggle.

“When did —”

“I had it delivered while we were out yesterday. God forbid you have to use that ‘fake crap.’”

“We aren’t all still athletes,” Bitty retorts. “Some of us have to count our calories.”

Jack rolls his eyes and pours the perfect amount of creamer into Bitty’s coffee, then crosses back to the bed and hands it to him. “Careful, it’s hot. Like you.”

“God, I love you so much,” Bitty says, taking the mug from him and settling back against the headboard.

“I hope you still feel that way a year from now when I have a dad bod and you’re supporting my life of leisure,” Jack says with a grin.

“First of all, you’re gonna have the _best_ dad bod because you’re still gonna have that hockey butt, even when you’re seventy. It’s a little unfair. And second, caring for a toddler and going back for your master’s won’t leave a lot of room for leisure. But sure, you can be my trophy husband as long as you want, Sweetpea,” Bitty says, gently tugging at the waistband of Jack’s boxers to pull him back down into bed, “just as long as you keep making my coffee just like this.”

“I’m pretty good at making calls to room service too,” Jack says. “Do you want eggs and toast?”

“Mmm, I’m feeling kind of decadent today. What else is on the menu?”

Jack orders _pain au chocolat_ and fruit, along with a couple of mimosas. “Have to make our last vacation breakfast count,” he says. “Tomorrow it’s back to picking Cheerios and banana slices up off the floor.”

“ _You_ pick Cheerios and bananas up off the floor. I let Daisy eat ‘em.”

“ _Bits_. Is that why she keeps looking at me so pitifully every time I’m in charge of breakfast?”

“You let her sleep in our bed, mister.”

“Who else would keep you warm when I’m away on roadies?”

Bitty giggles and relaxes against Jack. He’d planned to put up a good fight when Jack showed him the picture of the rescue puppy he’d played with at a charity adoption event four years ago, but one look at those big brown eyes and he was a goner. Daisy’s their first baby, his running partner when Jack’s out of town, Carter’s best friend.

“Pretty soon there won’t be any more roadies,” Bitty says.

“ _Yay_ ,” Jack cheers in the same voice he uses when Carter reaches a new milestone.

“You know you’ll miss it,” Bitty scolds.

Jack puts an arm around Bitty’s shoulders. “I’ll miss playing the way I played 10 years ago. I’ll miss the excitement of opening day and playoffs. I’ll miss some of the people. I won’t miss being away from you and Carter. Or the nutrition plan. Or the press.”

“But you’ve never _not_ played hockey. It’s gonna be an adjustment.”

“You quit and had a pretty good second act.”

Bitty rolls his eyes. “That’s different. My hockey career —” he makes air quotes around _career_ — “always had an expiration date.” An old memory prickles at the back of his mind. “Did I ever tell you I almost quit my freshman year?”

The look of surprise on Jack’s face tells Bitty that no, he did not tell his husband about his short-lived decision to quit hockey and drop out of college. Lord, what was he thinking for those few hours?

“After your concussion?”

“No, before that. It was after that game against Yale.”

A look Bitty might classify as “amused horror” passes over Jack’s face. “Was that the one where I was so horrible to you afterward? Bud, you know that had more to do with my dad than you, right?”

“I know, honey. I got over it. When I woke up the next morning, it was the weirdest thing, but I just had this feeling that you were going to be an important person in my life. It was hard to stay mad. And then something Johnson said later on made me realize I should stick it out, see where it takes me.”

Bitty’s thought about this a few times over the years. That barely-there Dream Jack was more a warm feeling than a memory, but it was feeling that stuck with him through all the checking practice and nutrition lectures that came afterward. It was probably, he thinks, when his feelings toward Jack began to soften. It’s hard to stay annoyed with someone when you get the warm fuzzies every time you’re around them.

“Johnson,” Jack says with a chuckle. “Remember we saw him on the way to breakfast the morning after that game and he said something about telling the story to our kids?”

Bitty chokes on his coffee. Jack pats him on the back. “I never thought about that! I was so stuck on how he knew we were meeting our parents!”

“I just thought he meant our kids in general, not ...  _our_ kids. If I knew how to get in touch with him, I’d tell him he was right,” Jack muses.

“Somehow, I get the feeling he already knows.” Bitty rests his hand on Jack’s thigh, his head on Jack’s shoulder. As Jack threads their fingers together, Bitty thinks about how far they've come, and how  _lucky_ they are. It's not just luck; they've had to work at their relationship and on themselves. But there's nobody Bitty would rather do it with.

“I’m glad you stayed,” Jack murmurs into Bitty’s hair. “But I like to think we would have found each other anyway.”

Bitty snorts. “Yeah, maybe I would’ve ended up at a bakery in Nashville and you’d have signed with the Preds. We’d cross paths at Whole Foods going after the same basket of strawberries.”

“You know I considered going there a few years ago; it could have happened.” Jack’s self-satisfied smirk is ridiculous.

“Yeah, okay, it could have happened that way. Or, we could have been booked on the same late night show and fallen madly in love backstage.”

“Maybe I’d do one of those celebrity bake-offs you guest judged. I’d be terrible but you’d offer to give me a little after-hours tutoring.”

"In baking things or sex things?"

"Mm, both," Jack says, nuzzling at Bitty's neck.

Bitty sighs contentedly. “Those all sound sweet, but we would have had to wait so long. I’m glad we happened the way we did.”

“Even with the checking practice and the concussion and the public coming out?”

“I’d do it all over. Because we have the most amazing life and the best kid _now_.”

There’s a knock on the door and a call of “room service.”

“And _pain au chocolat.”_ Jack says, raising an eyebrow. He gets up to get the door.

“Hurry back,” Bitty says, patting the spot next to him. “It’s already lonely here without you.”

Jack slowly returns to bed, carefully balancing the tray with their plates and champagne glasses on one hand like a waiter.

“What would 18-year-old you say,” he says, handing Bitty a mimosa, “if he could see us here like this?”

“Oh, lord, he’d be so horrified I don’t even know.” Bitty raises his glass to toast Jack, then takes a sip. “But I’d tell him that when it happens, it’s gonna be perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we’re done! This is the end! I’m kind of sad it’s over, but I got to give Bitty three happy endings, which was pretty awesome. Thank you for sticking with me through this crazy au. I loved reading some of your guesses about what exactly happened. (A few of you were right on about Johnson somehow being involved.) This is the first fic I’ve posted as I wrote it — I initially wrote the first chapter and most of the epilogue as a kind of “wouldn’t this be funny if …” and was going to post it on Tumblr before I decided it was a whole darn fic. All of your kind comments and enthusiasm really motivated me to keep working on it. Thank you!
> 
> I always forget to mention it at the end of my fics, but I’m on Tumblr at [doggernaut](https://doggernaut.tumblr.com). Feel free to drop by and say hi!


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